Page 55 of Unforeseen Affairs
“What? Susanna, I mean nothing by it! Only… heisof some renown.”
Judging by the contrition in his voice, Charlotte supposed her stepmother must’ve shot him her most censorious look.
Charlotte tried to focus on the article before her, and not the heat rising in her cheeks.
“If I recall,The Daily Albionspent several paragraphs of ink on the prize money alone.” Her father let out a low whistle. “I can understand him not having set back to sea; he could certainly retire in comfort right now if he wished.”
Charlotte tightened her hold on the paper, crumpling the edges. She could still see the defeated slump of Sir Colin’s shoulders and the resigned frown upon his face as he lamented the downsides of fame.You’d be surprised, I think, at what information about a stranger someone might bother to commit to memory.
“I confess I’m not well-versed in naval history,” Susanna mused, “but he could very well be the youngest sailor ever knighted.”
Charlotte felt a rising anger tighten her chest. Sir Colin didn’t like this sort of thing, she knew. He’d only touched upon it, but she knew it with certainty nonetheless, just as she knew the color of his hair and the cheerful rumble of his voice.
“It is possible,” she said from behind the paper as she glared at an advertisement for a pamphlet entitledRifts in the Veil, “to consider a person separately from their achievements.”
“Of course. You are right, Charlotte. We ought not discuss those who are not present,” her stepmother agreed, slipping back into her governess tone.
“Although, I must say…” came her father’s voice once again.
Charlotte wanted to groan. But she would never.
“Itisa wonder that he’s still ashore. I’d think many in his position would be desperate to be back at sea. Take Nelson, for example. Rose rapidly through the ranks, a post captain at just twenty. How old is Sir Colin? Twenty-five? He’s got to strike while the iron is hot!”
Behind the paper, Charlotte bit her lower lip, lest she blurt out something she might regret.
“Ajax…” warned her stepmother.
“Or is he of an age with you, Charlotte?”
“I could not say,” she answered mildly, knowing full well he was three years older than her twenty-two.
She frowned into the paper, her cheeks flaming for some reason.How do I know that so surely?
Blessedly, her father’s pointed interrogation was cut short by a gentle rap at the door—the nanny, apologizing profusely for disturbing them, had come to say that Lucius had woken and was inconsolable.
Charlotte peered around the paper, supposing this as good a time as any to make her escape.
Susanna moved her needlework from her lap, intending to go upstairs, but her father waved her off.
“No, no, sweetness—I’ll tend to it.” He stood up and placed one hand atop Susanna’s shoulder, followed by a gentle kiss atop her head. “Have your rest.”
He glanced back at Charlotte with a knowing smile that she did not care for just now. She stared back, stone-faced. She could hear his low chuckle as he left the room.
Irritated, she retreated back behindThe Spiritualistand put on an air of placid indifference.
But Sir Colin would not leave her so easily, heating her cheeks with thoughts of his scent and the fullness of his lips on hers, how he’d tasted so clean and tantalizing. How she could feel his raw strength when pressed against him. How she wanted to be even closer to him than that—to be underneath him, as the delicious weight of his body held her down, pinning her in place while—
“Do not mind him, dear.”
Her stepmother’s calm, steady voice interrupted her lurid thoughts. She flushed with a curious guilt, though she knew there ought to be no reason for it. Such thoughts were biologically imperative, after all. Charlotte had read all she could find about the congress between the sexes.
And yet, having such thoughts in the presence of her stepmother—and former governess—felt strangely humiliating. She swallowed thickly, glad for the flimsy shield of spiritualist ramblings about the nature of the Summerland and the necessity of purifying the corporeal form by abstaining from liquor and animal flesh.
“I do not,” she replied curtly.
Her own voice sounded close enough to its usual tone, she thought.
“Has something… happened? Something you might wish to talk about?”
