Page 5 of Unforeseen Affairs
“And,” Mrs. Gearing began, in a tone Charlotte supposed was meant to be nonchalant but sounded very much the opposite, “Miss Pearce has agreed to come as well.”
Sir Colin stilled noticeably.
Mrs. Stone must have picked up on it as well, as she tapped Charlotte’s hand ever so slightly. But Charlotte didn’t need the hint from her mentor—she was more than ready to needle the young man. After all, he’d blushed such a violent red in the hallway only moments ago.
She found it all quite amusing.
“A particular friend of yours, Sir Colin?” Charlotte asked disinterestedly, as if she were inquiring about the weather.
He cleared his throat, the blush returning to his cheeks.
“No more so than her brother,” he sputtered, before adding in a rush, “That is, yes, a dear friend, only that our families have both… we’re both naval families, you see. Were children together and all that.”
Mrs. Gearing watched this speech with the wide grin of a woman eagerly anticipating a gaggle of charming, copper-headed grandchildren.
Charlotte studied the young man as he worked to recompose himself. He’d a guileless charm about him, so earnest and trusting.
“Eight would be an excellent number of sitters,” Mrs. Stone mused in her tiny voice, offering Sir Colin a reprieve. “It’s balanced. Calm. Quite conducive to spirit communication.”
“Is that so?” he said distractedly as he stood.
“Oh, do come, Colin! It’ll be good fun, if nothing else,” his mother pleaded.
“I cannot say, Mama,” he replied, in a jollier tone this time. “But at the moment, I have company of my own waiting in the library, and must beg your leave.”
He bowed once more to Charlotte and Mrs. Stone.
“Yes, yes, darling, go on with your friends, playing whatever you do, talking of what you will. Heaven knows I’ve barely a notion, I’m sure,” Mrs. Gearing said through a wide grin.
“Gunpowder,” Charlotte said calmly.
“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Gearing asked, clearly baffled.
“Gunpowder,” she repeated. “That’s what you were speaking of when I interrupted, wasn’t it, Sir Colin?”
He stared at her as if she were something he could scarcely comprehend. Sadly, though, he did not flush this time.
“Er, yes…” he stammered. “Something like that.”
“Well,” Mrs. Gearing chuckled, “appropriate for naval men, but certainly not a topic to which I could be expected to contribute.”
“No,” Sir Colin replied hurriedly, casting a worried look back to Charlotte.
“Oh alright then, go on.” Mrs. Gearing waved him off.
He glanced once more at Charlotte, his thick brows raised as if in a silent plea. And then finally—mercifully, for his sake—he quit the room for the less inquisitive company of his friends.
Did he truly think she would tattle on him to his mama?
Charlotte reached for her tea, feeling the flicker of a thrill. She wasn’t, alas, in the habit of gossiping or trading confidences. No, she was quite the opposite: a hoarder of secrets. A dragon jealously guarding her trove of information, for her use and hers alone. Every new insight into an individual was a gleaming bit of treasure to be added to her vault, for her knowledge and enjoyment only.
She’d always been thus. It suited her nature.
Mrs. Stone and Mrs. Gearing had returned to their discussion, planning the various details of the séance: which date would bode well, what type of table should be used, and so on. Mrs. Stone was incredibly particular about all these things, to the point that the mere mention of her name to a member of the Society for Spectral Research was enough to elicit a sigh of exasperation.
As Charlotte took a sip of her tea, she wondered whether or not Mrs. Gearing would be able to cajole her son into attendance.
Though he appeared reticent, Charlotte read him as a kind and dutiful son, which led her to conclude that Mrs. Gearing would succeed in the end. It was plain as day; that is, for anyone who took the time to properly look. Others wouldn’t bother to see beyond his handsome face, with its straight nose and square jaw, not to mention that dashing smile. But Charlotte saw. She sawhow he kept glancing at his mother, Mrs. Enid Gearing, and the way his pleasant, cheerful demeanor faltered ever so slightly as the subject of communicating with spirits was raised. She read this as concern for his mother’s mental state, rather than merely his own skepticism or distaste for the practice.
