ChapterOne
“Oh dear, do I feel there is much work to be done this evening.” Charlotte wrinkled her nose, her eyebrows turned down dubiously, as she studied the first ball of the season. Handsome couples spun by, entranced in their dances while waiters paced the ballroom, balancing trays of appetizers on their fingertips.
“Charlotte, that is no way to be,” Benedict grumbled.
“It is every way to be,” she refuted, digging her gloved fingers spitefully into her brother’s arm as he guided her onto the floor. “If I do not save the season’s debutantes from slaughter, then who will? All these mamas are parading their daughters about as if some terrible fate does not pursue them. It is positively sickening to watch.”
The ballroom of the mansion was bathed in a golden glow. On the ceiling, elegant chandeliers sent spires of brilliant light bounding across the room. On the far side of the floor, a violinist began a romantic, yet upbeat solo piece.
“Terrible?” Arabella frowned. “There is nothing terrible about marriage.”
“Marriage is not what I speak of.” It did take a moment for Charlotte to bite her tongue, as she was keen to make her own preferences known. Marriage was simply not for her. The very idea of giving oneself and all their agency and pride up for the hope of catering to a husband sounded far too difficult to stomach. “You simply have no idea how wretched and poorly behaved some of these men are. Isn’t that right, dear brother? Would you ever approve of our Arabella marrying that wicked Lord Lofton?”
“Absolutely not. The man is a brute.”
Charlotte smiled, having proven her point. “Precisely.”
When Benedict stepped aside to greet an acquaintance, Arabella was pouting, her soft brown bangs obscuring the tilt of her eyebrows. “It is not nearly the way you make it sound,” she said.
Charlotte crossed her arms, letting her gaze drift over the sea of faces—some familiar and some new to her eyes. “I do not detest marriage. I simply believe that if it is for you, then it is something that must bring joy. I want you to marry happily and with as much a romantic notion as can be achieved. Anything less is not worth pursuing.”
Arabella nodded, biting her cheek. “That is my greatest wish, as well.”
Charlotte smiled although she couldn’t help her disappointment that her sister would never question anything different than the status quo. Life had to be more than birthing children and embroidering pillowcases that scratched at your cheeks as you slept.
Ladies had been taught to be fearful of anything else. In fact, sometimes the wordspinsterseemed like it was forbidden from even lingering on one’s lips.
Spinster.
Everyone was afraid such a fate, but to Charlotte, it provided a comforting promise—a promise that she could be anyone she wanted, alone, without a man or child to define her. That was the greatest comfort in the world. When all was said and done, Charlotte desired to be someone great. The world seemed to only put praise on women that catered to a great husband or gave birth to a valuable man. Whatever she did now, whether people liked it or not, was to simply carve a space that was able to accommodate her talents alone.
“The night is wrought with possibility for you,” Charlotte said, ignoring her innermost thoughts.
Arabella giggled, nervously glancing up at the handsome men that passed them by. She was the luckier sister. She was naturally more beautiful, graceful, and polite than Charlotte. As the pair passed by, Arabella did not seem to be ignored by many of the bachelor’s at the evening’s ball. Every man was hungry for success and tonight set the tone for the whole season. A lovely, bright-eyed, and obedient wife was the making of any season’s diamond.
“For me, though…” Charlotte slumped just a little, straightening quickly when she imagined what her mother would say of her posture had she attended. “The season feels as boring and repetitive as it always has. It is as if everyone is too depressed to admit that I may spend the rest of my days enjoying the partnership of a parakeet and nothing else. Why am I here, but to keep up the charade?”
“You are so terribly pessimistic,” Arabella shook her head. “Besides, what would you really do without your most beloved hobby? If you are not protecting the virtue of this season’s debutantes, then where does that leave you? As a terrible pianist?”
“You are so cruel,” Charlotte snapped. “I certainly enjoy other prospects, nor is my playing that bad.”
Arabella giggled into her palm once more. “Yes, of course.”
Charlotte startled when she felt a hot breath tickle her ear. “Your playing is indeed that bad, and so is your subtlety.” Benedict leaned away, staring his sister down with a challenge in his eyes. He was older than his sister, and the heir to their late father’s fortune. This was the fourth year that he was the Earl of Pemberton. He was tall, well-bred, and liked by theton. Throughout their lives, these two Elkins siblings were far more likely to overshadow Charlotte at most anything.
“Do you think I wish to be subtle? May the wholetonfear my judgment.”
He raised his eyebrows slightly as if to suggest that he doubted that she might enjoy being the subject of such gossip. “Do your sister and I a favor. Hate upon the sacred union of a man and wife quietly, but do not ruin the prospects of the young ladies in attendance tonight. What you fail to realize is that every encounter is precious, and some men have the capacity to change.”
“So…” Charlotte grinned, a sardonic dimple punctuating her cheek. “Then you are warming up to Lord Lofton?” She turned her gaze to her sister. “Good news. I hear the wedding bells so clearly!”
“That isnotwhat I meant,” Benedict was quick to point out. His strangled smile wasn’t lost on Charlotte. He had always liked their banter even when it ended at his own expense.
“That is—dare I say—what it sounded like,” she said. At some point in their conversation, Mary Ann; Benedict’s wife, had met back up with them, after a friend tugged her away upon their arrival. She glanced between the two siblings, disinterested in yet another argument.
“Are you not ashamed of yourself?” Benedict lowered his voice so as not to fluff out his dirty laundry in front of his peers.
“Ashamed? Nay,” she assured him. “I rather like the idea of making a spectacle out of myself.”