Chapter 26
The morning sun spilled through the tall windows of the Mulford Manor parlor, bathing the room in soft gold and warming the pale cream walls.
A silver tea service gleamed upon the low table between Charlotte and Elizabeth, surrounded by delicate porcelain cups painted with tiny blue flowers.
The scent of bergamot tea mingled pleasantly with butter biscuits and fresh raspberry preserves while the fire crackled softly despite the mild early summer weather.
Charlotte sat gracefully upon the sofa opposite Elizabeth, though her mind wandered far more than her polite smile suggested.
Elizabeth happily stirred sugar into her tea with far too much enthusiasm for such a small task.
“Last evening was precisely what this house needed,” she declared brightly.
“For years these rooms have felt dreadfully serious, as though everyone were attending a funeral rather than residing in a grand estate.” She took a pleased sip of tea before continuing.
“But now there is laughter again, music, shouting over cards, young ladies arguing over nonsense; it is perfect.”
Charlotte smiled warmly. “It was lovely seeing everyone together.”
“And Victor looked positively human for once,” Elizabeth added mischievously. “That alone made the evening worth enduring Oswald’s dreadful stories about wool merchants.”
Charlotte laughed softly into her cup. “Uncle Oswald does enjoy hearing himself speak.”
“My dear, your uncle would deliver speeches to the furniture if no one else were available.” Elizabeth waved a dismissive hand.
“Still, your family brings spirit into the place, and that grandchild of mine desperately needs spirit around him or he sinks into moods darker than a thunderstorm.” Her eyes twinkled knowingly.
“Marriage suits him far better than he expected.”
At that Charlotte lowered her gaze to her tea, suddenly shy.
The word marriage still startled her at times.
She had gone from resigned spinsterhood to duchess so quickly, and sometimes it felt as though she were merely acting a role in somebody else’s life.
Yet when Victor touched her or looked at her in that heated way of his, everything became startlingly real.
Elizabeth sighed dreamily. “And of course once there are children this manor shall truly come alive again.”
Charlotte nearly choked upon her tea.
Elizabeth continued on happily, entirely unaware of the storm she had caused.
“I cannot wait for the sound of little feet running through the corridors again. A great-grandchild would do wonders for my spirits.” She clasped her hands together with delight.
“I do hope the child inherits your eyes and Victor’s height. ”
Charlotte forced herself to smile despite the uncomfortable twist in her chest. “That would certainly create a very tall child.”
Elizabeth laughed brightly. “Excellent. The Mulford bloodline produces excellent bone structure.”
Charlotte tried to laugh along, but her thoughts had already begun spiralling.
Children.
The very thing she had secretly longed for since she was a girl helping her mother soothe her crying sisters after difficult winters. She had always imagined a bustling household full of warmth and laughter and sleepy little faces tucked against her shoulder.
Now she finally had a husband, a home, security, everything she once believed impossible.
Except Victor does not want children.
The realization stung more sharply than she cared to admit.
She still did not understand the depth of his refusal, only that something dark and fearful tightened inside him whenever the subject arose.
At first, she had convinced herself it mattered little compared to all he had already given her family.
Yet lately the thought lingered more painfully than before.
She carefully set down her teacup. “Perhaps we ought to speak of happier things than infants before breakfast.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “Very well, though I maintain babies are always a happy topic.”
Charlotte quickly seized the opportunity to redirect the conversation. “My sisters and I are going shopping at Savile Row in a few days time. Would you care to accompany us?”
Elizabeth immediately looked scandalized. “Good heavens no. Your sisters exhaust me merely by existing. I think I have had enough diversion for now.”
Charlotte burst into laughter.
“They are lovely girls,” Elizabeth continued fondly, “but they descend upon shops like invading armies.” She pointed dramatically with her teaspoon. “Last time Joan argued with a modiste for twenty minutes over ribbon trim as though international diplomacy depended upon it.”
“In Joan’s defence,” Charlotte replied carefully, “the ribbon was hideous.”
Elizabeth barked with laughter loud enough to startle the footman pouring fresh tea. “You fit into this family splendidly, my dear.” She smiled warmly. “No, you girls may venture to the shops alone, but you must bring me back something pretty. Perhaps lace.”
“Or perhaps another tiny dog figurine for your collection,” Charlotte teased.
Elizabeth gasped. “Do not tempt me. Your husband already claims I possess enough porcelain dogs to populate a village.”
“He is likely correct.”
“He is frequently correct,” Elizabeth muttered darkly. “It is terribly irritating.”
Charlotte laughed again, though her amusement faded the moment the parlor doors opened. Her heart leapt instinctively, foolishly hoping Victor had finally decided to stop avoiding her.
But instead of Victor, Lionel entered.
The disappointment struck her far harder than it ought to have.
Lionel removed his gloves as he stepped into the room, his easy smile immediately directed toward Elizabeth. “Good morning, ladies.”
“Lionel!” Elizabeth brightened at once. “Where have you been hiding yourself?”
“In Brighton, regrettably.” He bent to kiss her cheek affectionately before bowing politely toward Charlotte. “Your Grace.”
“My lord,” Charlotte greeted warmly.
Lionel dropped into the chair beside Elizabeth with the relaxed air of a man entirely comfortable in the house. Unlike Victor’s intense presence, Lionel carried an easier charm, lighter and more approachable. Yet Charlotte noticed now how alike the brothers truly were around the eyes and mouth.
“You missed a grand supper party last evening,” Elizabeth scolded. “The Duchess hosted cards and music.”
Lionel placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “Then I have suffered greatly indeed.”
“You should have seen Joan threatening Penelope with card violence,” Charlotte added with amusement.
Lionel grinned. “Ah, now I truly regret missing it.”
Elizabeth pointed at him firmly. “You must attend the next gathering.”
“I promise I shall,” Lionel replied. “Business simply demanded my attention this week.” He loosened his cravat slightly and sighed. “Brighton has become unbearably crowded with investors who believe themselves clever.”
“Most investors believe themselves clever,” Elizabeth remarked dryly.
“Most are not,” Lionel answered.
Charlotte watched them together quietly while sipping her tea.
Lionel always seemed gentler with Elizabeth than Victor did, though perhaps that was because Victor carried the weight of responsibility upon his shoulders constantly.
Still, there was undeniable affection here.
Elizabeth looked positively delighted by Lionel’s presence.
And suddenly Charlotte found herself imagining another future entirely.
A future where she might sit just like Elizabeth one day, older and content while grandchildren filled the room with noise.
A future where Victor stood nearby watching their grandchildren with reluctant fondness beneath all his grumbling restraint.
A future where Mulford Manor felt permanently alive.
The longing that swept through her startled her deeply.
“Charlotte?” Lionel’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
She blinked. “Forgive me?”
“I asked whether your sisters are surviving their first season without causing scandal.” His eyes sparkled teasingly. “Though perhaps scandal is unavoidable for the Browns.”
Charlotte smiled faintly. “Joan nearly stepped upon a viscount’s foot during a quadrille.”
Lionel winced theatrically. “Fatal.”
“And Penelope informed a baron that his poetry sounded like dying livestock.”
Elizabeth burst into helpless laughter while Lionel leaned back, groaning. “Good God, I adore your family already.”
“They are impossible,” Charlotte said fondly.
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed warmly. “And exactly what this house needed.”
Charlotte smiled at that, though inwardly her thoughts drifted once more toward Victor. He had not joined them for tea. He had barely spoken with her last evening. Even when he looked at her, there was something restrained in him now, something cautious.
And Charlotte could not decide whether he was running from her,
Or does he run from himself?
* * *
Late that night, moonlight filtered softly through the windows of Charlotte’s bedchamber, casting pale silver across the coverlet as she lay awake staring at the ceiling.
The house had long since gone quiet, the corridors still except for the occasional distant creak of settling wood.
Yet her thoughts would not rest. She turned onto her side with a frustrated sigh, clutching the blanket closer around herself as Victor’s absence weighed heavily upon her mind once again.
Three nights. Three nights since he has come to my chambers.
Charlotte frowned into the darkness. At first, she had convinced herself he was occupied with estate matters or business in London, but now she could no longer ignore the strange distance growing between them.
He smiled at her across rooms, brushed kisses against her hand, called her Duchess in that low, sinful voice, and then disappeared.
It hurt far more than it ought to have.
“Perhaps wives are meant to visit their husbands as well,” she muttered quietly to herself.