“And wicked,” he said.
“Wicked indeed,” she said. “That is what makes her so compelling.”
He laughed softly, pressing his hand to his lips to avoid showing her too much of his enjoyment. “And you, Lady Arabella? What might you have to say about Lady MacBeth?”
Arabella looked up from her conversation somewhat taken aback. “Oh, she is awful,” she said, looking at Lord Stanton. He agreed with her.
“Lady Charlotte does have a point though,” William mused. “Awful is much more interesting, is it not? And Macbeth himself?”
“Oh, the man’s a fool,” Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Through and through.”
“Agreed,” William nodded.
Lord Stanton looked at Arabella briefly before clearing his throat. “A man with as much devotion as he is hardly a fool. Misguided, yes, but terribly in love.”
“Hm,” Charlotte shrugged. “I could not disagree more. We must retain some individuality in love. Anything less is dangerous.”
“But a true partnership is just that,” Arabella pointed out quietly. “Love creates a team out of two individuals. That sort of devotion is exactly what love is about.”
“Being vulnerable is not a weakness.” Lord Stanton pretended he was much more interested on the stirrings behind the curtain, but he kept looking out of the corner of his eyes to see what Arabella thought of his words. Of course, she was a pile of much for him.
Charlotte scoffed. They were perfect for each other.
“Maybe so,” William responded. “But the man is a fool nonetheless.”
Charlotte nodded in agreement, but William pretended not to be bothered. She knew the truth. Even if he dared to hide it, she knew that he wanted her as much as she had wanted him. A mutual look showed they both realized the circumstances of their evening but wished they could be somewhere more private together.
It was foolish of her, she realized, to agree to a false courtship with a man who she found so intensely curious. It was not very often that a man stirred something inside her. When he asked, she had no choice but to accept. She didn’t want to fall for someone, but somewhere in the most primal parts of herself, she ached to be loved. She wanted to be loved by him. This was all her doing. Her own stupid mistake to make.
He said something.
“Pardon?”
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I have certainly seen you redder, but never paler.”
“Oh I–” she paused, staring at him. She thought quickly of a lie. “I have just developed a headache. There is a smell in the air like…” she made a show of smelling the room. “I just despise rosehips.”
The butler snored, startling them both. His head was lolled back in his seat and the paper was draped over his lap like a napkin. William stifled a laugh before turning back to Charlotte.
“The show is about to begin. Would you like to step away?” he asked.
“No,” she laughed awkwardly, brushing him off. “I think a distraction may serve me well,” she explained. She turned away her attention, glancing at her sister who was deeply enthralled in a conversation with her suitor. She looked happy. That was perhaps the only reason why Charlotte wasn’t flying down the staircase, skirt hiked up to her knees, slippers flying off all because love might be imminent.
What a disaster.
The play opened with the night watch scene in which the guards witnessed the arrival of the king’s ghost.
“Hm,” William mumbled, and Charlotte was almost sure he was provoking a question out of her. It seemed they had both seen Hamlet enough to not fret over missing two minutes of the plot.
“What?” she snapped; her voice dropped to a whisper.
He leaned in close to her, his breath so warm in her ear that a shudder ran down her spine. Oh, how badly she wished for his lips to work their way down her neck the way they had in the study. “Do you believe this?”
“Hamlet is a fictional character, Lord Holdford. You must be aware.”
He laughed. “No, no, I mean ghosts. Do you believe in ghosts?”
She thought about it. “I have not seen one. Have you?”