“Yes, he did have rather a lot of it, didn’t he? One would think I was the very worst of sinners ever to walk the earth,” she said on a chuckle. “Ah, well. All the more reason to grant the annulment.”
“And that is what you want?” Mr. Fortescue asked. “I would have spoken with you privately in advance, had you given me the opportunity. But I must ask now. That is truly what you want?”
“Yes, I—” Charity cleared her throat of the odd lump that had risen in it. “Of course it is what I want.” Wasn’t it? But moreover, it was what Anthony wanted, which was just as important.
But when, exactly, had his wishes grown to matter every bit as much as her own?
∞∞∞
Charity sat at her desk that evening, staring down at the paper upon which she had written,Dearest Mercy. And nothing else. It should have been simple enough to pen a letter. She’d managed one to Felicity with no issues.
She had, however, left out any mention of Anthony. There was no reason she ought to have done, except…except that she had always been meant to be theeldersister. The one who had all the answers, who always knew precisely what to do in any given situation. Of course that had never been true—but it was what had allowed Felicity to have a life of her own, freed from Father’s cruelty and unburdened by the sacrifices Charity had made to keep the both of them safe.
It had been her responsibility, as the elder of them, to do so. She had never regretted it, nor resented Felicity for it. But she had spent so many years brushing away Felicity’s concerns, assuring her that all was well whilejust occasionally coming through a scrape by the skin of her teeth. She had never wanted to make her worries become Felicity’s. She had never known quite how she was meant to shed the persona she had adopted of the wise, self-possessed elder sister. How to be honest with Felicity in a way that she could not have done when they had been younger.
So she had—as she had always done—tactfully omitted any mention of this newest complication in which she had found herself embroiled.
But Mercy…Mercy had never relied upon her as Felicity had done. They had only discovered each other a few years ago. And they had, all three of them, become quite close in that time, but—
Mercy had been a friend first. It had happened gradually, as they had conversed through letters, seeking to unravel the tangled threads that connected their pasts. Thefeelinglike the sisters they were had followed. But growing a friendship between them had come first. Just as Mercy had trusted her with a great number of her own woes and troubles, Charity expected she could do the same.
She dipped the nib of her pen into the inkwell, and wrote,I fear I may have gotten myself into a bit of a situation with a gentleman of my acquaintance.
Not quite the truth, she supposed, but close enough to it. She hesitated to put the whole truth of it to paper. Letters could be intercepted or mislaid upon receipt. Was it even wise to do so, before she had obtained her annulment? Would she be betraying Anthony’s trust by doing so? Best to keep it bland, then.
You will laugh, I’m certain, to hear of it.
There. That ought to avert the worst of whatever worries her first line might have provoked. But when would Mercy hear of it? She’d eschewed the Season this year, owing to the birth of her first child—her daughter, Flora. The baby was only a few months old at present, but as Charity understood it, learning how to be a mother—a goodone, as God knew that they had not had the best example of one to learn from—was commanding the bulk of Mercy’s time and attention.
Mercy would not be coming to London at any point in the near future. The likelihood was high enough even that in the chaos of her new motherhood that she might not even find the time to answer Charity’s letter. But perhaps—
Perhaps a visit of some sort is in order in the near future. I should like to meet my niece.
And there. As close to a request for an invitation, as she was capable ofmanaging. It was wisest, she had learned, to hedge one’s bets. And there was just the slightest niggling uncertainty in her chest that once she had accomplished her task, once she had obtained her sought-after annulment, that she might very well…desire a bit of respite from London. Just for a while. Just until Anthony had got his suitable bride, and the mere thought of it didn’t cause a dreadful ache behind her breastbone. Roughly in the spot her heart might have been, had she been in possession of one worth speaking of.
Most likely, by the time Mercy had received the letter and had found the time to respond, Charity’s inconvenient marriage would be a distant memory. Her annulment secured, her life her own once more.
Theywouldlaugh about it, she assured herself. Eventually.
But she thought there might be a part of her—a tiny, mostly insignificant part—that might be in need of agood cry first.
Chapter Seventeen
Ascratch at the study door pulled Anthony’s attention from the letter in his hand, which contained the list that Lady Cecily had sent to him of the plant specimens she favored. And quite a long list it was at that, rendered entirely in scientific names with which he had no familiarity whatsoever. He supposed he’d have to hunt down a horticulturist to untangle the mystery of it for him and give him some idea of which might be located, and where. “Enter,” he called, as he set the letter aside.
A moment later his sister-in-law, Esther, stepped through the door. “You wished to see me?” she inquired hesitantly. Still there was an air of nervousness about her, but then he supposed they’d not spoken much outside of the occasional family dinner, when he was in for the evening.
“Yes,” he said. “Please, sit, if you would be so kind,” he said, gesturing to the chair before the desk.
As he had bid, she settled into the chair he had indicated in perfect silence, folding her hands in her lap. She had been his sister-in-law the longest, though they had not had occasion to meet one another prior to the tragedy that had taken his father and brothers from the world. Nearly fifteen years she had been his eldest brother’s wife, and though their marriage had not been blessed with children, he knew it had nonetheless been a happy one.
“I have spoken with Helen and the girls already,” he said, though she was likely already well aware of that. “Having now obtained a full accounting of the family estates and properties from my solicitor, I thought I would ask you which of them you preferred for yourself. Helen has got Northall House, since it was the one she and Frederick favored for their time away from London.”
“I—” Esther hesitated, her thin shoulders falling from their rigid set so near her ears. “I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t believe William mentioned a particular property in his letters,” Anthony said. “So the decision must be yours.”
“But I have no children,” Esther said, her dark brows knitting in confusion. “We were never so blessed.”
