“But there’s still plenty left, my lady,” she said indicating the breakfast feast that had been laid out across the table. “We’ve got all those wedding guests to feed, after all. You won’t go a-wanting.”
“No.” Charlotte threw her the biggest smile she could muster, which wasn’t very big at all.
Why on earth am I so bothered?
She leaned in and selected some cold meats for her plate. The infuriating man had managed to worm his way into her thoughts—and yes, into her heart, she supposed—and then he didn’t even see fit to honor her with a goodbye? Was she so unimportant to him?
“Good morning,” Aunt Lydia said as she waddled into the room and took a seat opposite. She immediately dove into the offerings, piling up her plate.
“Morning, Aunt Lydia.”
“Are we the first?” Uncle Elliot asked as he bounced into the room, so very different to Aunt Lydia.
“No, but Lord Stanhope and the duke had to leave early this morning, so the maid told me.”
“What a shame, so soon after the wedding,” Uncle Elliot said.
“Not a shame at all,” Aunt Lydia muttered around her toast. “There was something about that duke fellow I didn’t much like.”
“Lydia,” Uncle Elliot warned. “We are in somebody else’s home, remember?”
“I can only speak the truth,” she said, unpeeling an egg.
“I don’t suppose any of it matters now, anyhow,” Charlotte replied softly. “We ourselves shall be returning to London tomorrow.”
Chapter 17
Two weeks later
“I have tickets to the theatre this evening,” Uncle Elliot said as they ate breakfast together. “Would you care to join me? Your Aunt Lydia has a prior engagement, so it will be just the two of us.”
Charlotte smiled warmly at her uncle. “That would be lovely. What inspired you to buy the tickets? I always thought you hated the theater.”
Uncle Elliot looked at her sheepishly. “Hate is a strong word, Charlotte. You have been so distracted since we returned home, a s if nothing brings you joy any longer. I thought you could do with a little cheering up, and I know you’ve always enjoyed the theatre, regardless of my personal feelings on the matter.”
Charlotte looked away, embarrassed that even her uncle had noticed. He was not normally such a perceptive man.
It was true, though. If Charlotte had thought getting back to London would perk her up, she had been very wrong. If anything, she had been more depressed since arriving homethan she had been when she left. She missed Chelsea terribly. They’d always been close, but in the run up to the wedding, they had been inseparable. Now, Charlotte felt as though she had lost part of herself. She was bereft.
“Really, I’m fine,” she insisted, “though I shan’t turn down a chance to see a play. Thank you.”
“Excellent,” he replied, beaming at her. “Then we shall leave at seven pm sharp.”
Though a little brighter thanks to her uncle, the rest of Charlotte’s day passed as they all had since her return—clouded with grayness she couldn’t quite see through. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She and Chelsea had been separated for stretches of time before, yet she had never felt this way. Perhaps it was because Chelsea was married now—if Charlotte knew anything about marriage, it was that it changed everything.
The play itself was enjoyable enough. Charlotte supposed it was nice to be out in public again, though all the conversations felt tarnished somehow. Uninspired and uninspiring. She had selected a bright daffodil-yellow gown in the hopes of brightening her mind, and it worked, to an extent, but the colors all around her seemed dulled.
“Goodness, I have no idea how they are going to get themselves out of this pickle,” Uncle Elliot said with a laugh as they stepped down into the foyer for the intermission.
“They will find a way, Uncle,” Charlotte replied softly. “That’s the thing about protagonists. They always win.”
“If only life were so simple, ey?” he replied with a raised eyebrow. “I do believe a glass of wine will go down wonderfully.”
The play was engaging, peppered with just the right amount of humor and just the right amount of drama. Under normal circumstances, Charlotte would have found it a sufficient distraction for the whirring noise in her mind, but today her heart still felt heavy. She felt as though something was missing from her life, though if anyone were to ask her, she would not be able to say what.
She accepted Uncle Elliot’s proffered glass of wine gratefully then took a sip as she looked around at the theater-goers. Dressed in their finery, they spoke to one another in delight, leaning over half-finished glasses of wine and fingers pinched around nibbles.
She recognized a great many of those in attendance, but she supposed that was no surprise. These were the same people who attended the same seasons she had for so many years. It was no wonder she stopped attending. If it wasn’t for the want of a husband, the season itself was a terminable bore. Always the same people, always the same topics of conversation.
