Everything in that single word shouted the opposite. Charlotte felt the guilt like a sharpened blade. The Smiths were country neighbors and Bethany Case nee Smith's animosity toward Charlotte had been pa.s.sed down the family line.

Margaret, the more physically blessed of the two sisters, hadn't needed the extra edge to make Emily's life miserable.

Charlotte pushed the heel of her palm to her forehead.

"Are you pained?" Emily asked, somewhat anxiously. "Why didn't you say something sooner? Anna said you were sick earlier, but I didn't believe it. You are never sick. Not unless you have cause to avoid something or someone."

Charlotte pushed against her sudden headache. "If you tell anyone that, you'll ruin all of my mad designs," she said as lightly as she could.

"Like I'd tell," her sister scoffed, looking relieved. "Now, I want to hear all about your night. About the Hannings' masquerade-I simply cannot bear the thought of another two years before I'm able to attend. And don't omit any details about your suitors." She wagged a finger. "You have been incredibly tight-lipped in your notes."

She thought of how it would look on the page. Dear Emily, I think you will be most interested in the knowledge of my torrid affair with a man from London's underworld . . .

"The masquerade was quite tame this year." The back rooms on the other hand . . . "And my suitors are the same ones you already know of, goose. Quite a lack of interest there. For your interest, though, there are a few men who have returned from recent travels who are quite handsome and witty. Who dance like dreams and speak like angels."

Emily put her chin on her hand, sighing. "That sounds lovely. I can't wait until I can accompany you."

"I wish that as well." Charlotte swallowed. "You will brighten the halls."

"What I want to know is why you don't find one of these dreamy angels instead? One should not be bored by a suitor."

Charlotte snorted.

"Who do you truly fancy?" Emily wheedled. "You've not written anything tangible in weeks . I'm liable to start believing Margaret Smith's tales."

"Oh? And what does Margaret Smith have to say?" She tried not to tense too noticeably. Sometimes the truth to rumors was far easier to sift through from the information that pa.s.sed between towns.

The knowledge of where and with whom she had been spending time would destroy Emily's future chances in one swift stroke.

She knew that. But had been drowning in her own desires instead. Wanting this one thing . . .

Emily waved a hand. "Nonsense. As usual. But hurry and let me undo your hair so you won't be a slugabed in the morning. Mother said I can accompany you on your appointments tomorrow." Emily looked as excited as a sixteen-year-old could when told she'd get a taste of society.

"Did she? I don't know . . ." And though Charlotte said it teasingly, she honestly didn't. What if . . .

"Oh, hush, you wretched thing." Emily hurriedly helped her, then all but stuffed her under the covers. "Can't be late tomorrow."

"Emily, we won't be late."

"Ha," she muttered, capping the light. "I will have my day." She waved her fist.

"Yes, Captain." Charlotte rolled her eyes, waiting for her sister to leave.

The edge of the bed dipped, the covers lifting.

"What are you doing?"

Emily stuffed herself next to her, giving her an incredulous look in the adjusting shadows as she made herself comfortable. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"But . . . don't you want to sleep in your own room?"

Roman . . .

Emily stared at her. "No," she said baldly, flipping over to her side. "We always do this first night back. Honestly, Charlotte, I'll start to think you truly perplexed."

It took Emily twenty minutes to stop chatting and start softly snoring. Emily, who had her boxed in against the wall. Charlotte closed her eyes, hand to her brow. Wonderful. Trapped. Just where she needed to be if a slippery and deadly visitor made an appearance at her window. Her unlatched window-as it had remained for weeks.

Again, what the h.e.l.l was she doing ? What was she thinking ?

A sc.r.a.pe at the window caused her to go stiff as a board, but it was only a branch in the wind. A creak in the floor made her whimper. A whisper of sound outside made her pray that he ignored her request to find her later.

The shadows pa.s.sed from quarter hour to half hour to full hour, then over again.

The remembered sound of a light laugh and feel of fingers gently stroking her cheek finally pulled her deep to sleep.

It felt like twenty minutes later when Emily pulled at her arm. "Up, up."

Charlotte allowed herself to be dragged up. She touched two fingers to her forehead. The headache hadn't ceased. Anxiety, plans, revelations, fear, and the grip of a charmed smile not letting her free. The decisions she made here and now would have an impact on more than just her future. She knew this. Had breathed the knowledge of it for years.

Had put all her past plans in jeopardy because of him. Because of her own needs.

She had half expected to wake to his smile, to Emily's yelp. Wondering and waiting. Fearing and dreaming. Not sleeping.

She didn't think she could look any better than she felt.

Emily stopped her tugging and surveyed her. "Actually, you don't look all that well. Are you truly sick?"

"Thank you for that lovely examination of my sterling appearance." Charlotte pushed her hand away. "I'm perfectly well."

She peered into the mirror, though, just to see the ghastly image. She paused, fingers at the corners of her eyes. Was John Clark right? Did she look different now?

"Are those wrinkles?"

Everything in Charlotte froze at the teasing, and her vision seemed to magnify the edges of her eyes, gaze frantically searching for the lines. She tore her gaze away, determined not to give in to the folly. Stupid, silly fears. She didn't want the pictured image to change, as it used to, into the cold, decrepit reflection she had invariably seen staring back. The image had changed recently into something very nearly approaching vibrant. She closed her eyes and ran fingers along her cheek, the tips of her nails lightly sc.r.a.ping as they came to rest at her chin.

Her eyes opened to pin her sister. "Very amusing." Charlotte tried to keep her voice light. "Help me dress? What should I wear?"

"Pink."

Charlotte shook her head, looking through her decidedly pink-free wardrobe.

"What is this?" Emily asked. Charlotte looked over to see her sister sitting on the edge of the bed holding a note. "It says, 'Everything taken care of. Apologies for last night, my snoring beauty.' "

Charlotte plucked the note from her sister's grasp, clutching it in her shaking fist. d.a.m.n man had come in through her window after all and left it on her pillow. After she had fallen asleep. Next to her sister.

Emily's brows creased as she examined her. Hysteria rose within Charlotte.

Charlotte waved her shaking hand. "A note for Miranda that she shared with me last night. Snored something dreadful the other night, I guess. The note must have slipped into my cloak or dress."

How long had he stayed? What if Emily had awoken when he was there?

Emily regarded her seriously. "Charlotte, you aren't having an affair with Downing, are you? Miranda will be seriously displeased."

The hysteria bubbled over.

Emily twiddled a pin between her fingers an hour later as Charlotte put the finishing touches on them both.

"My new correspondent is far more attentive than you have been. I'll have you replaced in a thrice, dear sister, if you don't increase your efforts."

"A new correspondent, hmmm?" Charlotte pulled a brush through her sister's hair.

"Yes, Lady Downing linked us together. He is incredibly prompt. Unlike some, hmph." Emily gave her a look.

Charlotte stared at her sister's image in the mirror for a long moment, uncertainty flowing through her. Only confidence in her friend stemmed troubling thoughts. "You started writing a man? Who?"

Emily shrugged. "Don't know. The measured sort who is probably shy in person, but on paper he is quite the wittiest man I've come across. Probably some vicar's son chafing at his binds."

Charlotte felt the corner of her mouth tug. "A vicar's son?"

"Held hostage somewhere, only my letters getting through to him. I've decided I will rescue and marry him."

"Indeed." The other corner joined the first.

"Don't ruin my imaginings, Charlotte. You are far too sensible."

"Someone needs to be," she teased back, picking up a pink ribbon for her sister's hair.

Emily said nothing for a long moment, and Charlotte looked in the mirror to see her sister staring at her with a doleful expression.

"What?"

"Nothing. Where are we off to first?" The bounce returned to her sister's movements as Charlotte finished tying the ribbon. "Somewhere brilliant, I hope."

"Lady Hodge's parlor."

Emily's face fell. "Lady Hodge is eighty, if a day. There won't be an amus.e.m.e.nt to be had."

Charlotte shrugged and didn't try to hide her smile. She'd need it for the coming morning. "Did you not want to come?"

"Fine, fine."

"I was dreadful," her sister uttered darkly after their fourth such visit a few hours later.

"You were wonderful. No one noticed," Charlotte a.s.sured her, as they eased into the well-trod shopping lanes, unabated tension thrumming through her.

No one had given Charlotte any odd or satisfied looks. And one person had even gossiped that John Clark had suddenly decided that very morning to visit the Continent.

Charlotte prayed his accommodations didn't include a wooden box.

"My cup hit my saucer so loudly it was as if I'd tossed her prized plates through the display gla.s.s."

"No one noticed." Everyone had noticed.

" Everyone noticed. I might as well have thrown the plates. I'm doomed."

"You aren't doomed." She wouldn't let her be.

"I'll never secure a husband."

"Because your cup hit your saucer a tad forcefully? It was of no consequence," she said as lightly as she could.

Emily gave her a disbelieving look. "Don't try and convince me that you weren't noticing such things about the other girls."

"You will hardly find such harsh scrutiny elsewhere. It is in the dance of the older women where such a thing is required. And you are young. You did well."

"I couldn't answer a single question without babbling. And you were nice enough not to incline your head when I'd already put my foot in it. d.a.m.n tongue might as well be a straight toboggan on a sharply curved path for all of the grace it possesses."

"Language. And you did a fine job."

"I probably ruined your b.l.o.o.d.y chances too. You should put me out. To pasture."

"If you don't watch your language, I'll consider it."

"Father will be so angry."

"At your language?" Charlotte looked down her nose. "Undoubtedly."

"No, at my lack of skill."

Charlotte's eyes narrowed. "You have plenty of skill. And Father will say nothing."

"He will. He's always going on about how . . . well, he just will," she finished lamely. The words whispered between them anyway.

He's always going on about how I have no beauty or grace to claim. How I will have to rely on you to make a good match. Or for someone to take pity upon me.

Charlotte stopped suddenly, Emily coming to rest next to her as the crowd moved around them. The tension pulsed. She put a forceful hand on her sister's shoulder. "If the fools can't notice what is in front of them, then you don't need them," she said, somewhat savagely.

Emily blinked in shock.

"You are the prettiest girl in England." Bright eyes and cherried cheeks, so full of life. "And better than that, the smartest. "

Emily raised a brow, the lingering hurt retreating back. "I think you have gone blind."

"And I think it's those other fools who are." Charlotte squeezed her shoulder and urged her back into motion, tension still throbbing. "Pay them no attention. We will change them. Force them to our will."

"We will?"

"Yes."