I let out a slow breath before turning his way. “Yes, in fact. Could you please tell the others that the upstairs of the house is to be reserved for only myself and Charlotte until I say otherwise.”
Willard nods a tad jerkily. “Sir.”
“Thank you, Willard.”
Walking to the door, I step outside, the sun shining in a way that feels disingenuous. As if it has the gall to be so merry when others are not. Charlotte turns my way, a small, forced smile on…his face I wish I could erase into something honest and true. I stop before him, my fingers brushing the softness of his cheek, waiting for any indication I’m not welcome. There is none, so I replace my fingers with my lips.
My love’s smile is a little brighter when I lean back.
“I had a thought,” I say.
“Oh my.” Charlotte’s retort is quick, his humor, apparently, still in good repair. “Thinking can be quite dangerous, I hear.”
My laughter is soft but relieved. I hold out my arm, and Charlotte takes it. “Would you join me in our chamber?”
“Arthur Kane, what could you possibly want with me there?”
“It’s not what you think,” I tell him, although that clearly would not have been ill received. “Trust me?”
His blue eyes are soft yet curious. “I do.”
I lead Charlotte…my love through the house and up the stairs, closing the door behind us. I have no doubt Willard will spread my request for the staff to stay on the first level until I give the go-ahead to resume normal duties, so our privacy is already ensured. But I’m more than certain my love would appreciate the peace of mind a closed door allows.
“First,” I say, leading him to sit in the chair at the corner of the room and standing before him. “There’s a matter I must ask you, for it is weighing on my mind. Your name.”
He nods slowly, brows drawn.
“Would you prefer another?”
Those eyebrows rise, his surprise evident. “Another name?”
“Yes. Does Charlotte suit you? It is quite feminine.”
He blinks at me, looking so very lost I drop to my knees, my hands resting on his own.
“You are a man,” I say softly. “Inside your heart. Are you not?”
He licks his lips before nodding ever so slowly.
I ease out a breath, immensely glad I’m still on the right track. “Then perhaps you would prefer another name? If not, say the word, and Charlotte you will be.”
His words come slowly. “You would call me by another?”
“Forevermore,” I promise.
He swallows several times, his gaze not on me but unseeing within the room. Finally, he says, “Could I be Charlie?”
I pick up his hand, kissing the back side once and then again. “Charlie,” I repeat. “My Charlie.”
He looks close to tears, but they don’t fall. Never have I seen him cry, in all the years we’ve known one another.
“How is this so easy for you?” His voice trembles, words hoarsely spoken. “You do not ridicule me. Do not look at me with disgust. I don’t understand how you can possibly accept it.”
I close my eyes for a moment, Charlie’s hand warm in my own. He’s shaking, but he hasn’t pulled away. “Have you heard of René Descartes?”
“The philosopher?”
I hum and open my eyes. “There’s a principle by which he’s most known. ‘I think, therefore I am.’”
