“And you owe me one?” Charlotte asked.
She frowned, folding her arms around herself. “Is this transactional?”
“No,” Charlotte said. “I simply do not know anyone else I might ask for help.”
Arabella sat down at the edge of Charlotte’s bed, arms crossed and ready to hear whatever was brewing in her sister’s mind.
“William will be proposing to me. We have mended things.”
Arabella gasped, hand covering her mouth. She smiled. “Is that—are you—I cannot believe it!”
“I am happy, yes,” Charlotte paced back and forth, nervous energy fizzing in her feet as she trailed from her nightstand to the closet door and back again. “Delirious,actually.”
“I’m so glad,” Arabella’s hand was pressed against her heart like the true romantic she was. “What can I do, then?”
Charlotte bit her lip and forced a smile so as to hopefully convince her sister it wasn’t a very big deal at all. “Can you perhaps keep Benedict occupied for perhaps twenty…no, forty minutes? Is that too hopeful?”
“Too hopeful for what?”
“Mm,” Charlotte nodded to herself after thinking it over. “Better safe than sorry. Forty-five minutes. I will rescue you sooner if my expectations are too lofty.”
Arabella ran her hand across the blue duvet beneath her fingers and stared at her sister. It was evident that the wheels in her head were turning, trying to figure out what an engaged woman might need forty-five minutes of peace for. After a moment, she gasped even louder. “Charlotte!”
Charlotte lifted her hands up as if to ask for clarification.
“Charlotte you cannot…churn butter…are you out of your mind?”
“Yes,” she said decisively. “I am a terribly impatient person, and I cannot wait any longer. Do not play coy with me. You know exactly the anticipation of which I speak. Lord Stanton is most definitely one to dream about. Does he not make you burn?”
Arabella’s eyes widened and her voice peaked at a shrill whisper. “Of course he does, but at least I keep it to myself!”
“Should you choose to mend that burn before it is proper, I will be indebted to help you, but only if—”
Arabella covered her ears. “Do not tell me. I cannot know,” she said, standing. “I will do this, but only if you tell me tell me a much more palatable truth.”
“Fine,” Charlotte said. She paused, considering what else she might be doing. “I intend to press flowers and I will need forty-five minutes—with any luck—to complete this activity. I do not wish for anyone to know because…” she trailed off, not being imaginative to make something else up.
“Christmas!” Arabella offered.
“Yes, Christmas gifts. Of course.”
Arabella nodded, scrunching her face up. “Fine. There is nothing wrong with pressing flowers and so if you were to be caught, I would not be held liable, for I believed you to be crafting in here.”
“If I were to be caught? Arabella, I cannot be caught!”
“Fine. Fine. I will do my best. Truly.” She said, nodding and hurrying out the door.
As the door clicked shut, Charlotte fell back on her bed, her breath already ragged and her chest buzzing with nervous energy. Within a short time, she would be married to William. Waiting any longer to join fully with him seemed useless. They had already done the impossible just so that they could be together. And so now all she wanted was to finally be together.
ChapterEighteen
When Benedict had finally accepted William’s offer, he could hardly believe what he was hearing. He was ever grateful, and in his happiness, he may have hugged Benedict a bit too close. After he heard the news, he retreated to the back of the estate just as Charlotte had told him to.
Before he could reach the staircase, he ran into Edward, enjoying a glass of wine with an acquaintance while a lovely young woman played the pianoforte. Edward excused himself and stepped aside with his friend. “Where have you been?” he asked.
William smiled. “I have just convinced Lord Pemberton to allow me to marry his sister.”
“I thought you ended your courtship with her,” he said, eyes narrowed.