Anne Mallory - One Night Is Never Enough

One Night Is Never Enough

Anne Mallory

Dedication

To S, because you are awesome

Contents

S he needed to slow down. To saunter and smile gently as a well-bred lady should. To embody the kind and soft woman she wished to be.

Charlotte Chatsworth strode the pavement instead. Long, hard strides. Trying to shake the feel of chains that had always been there, that she had tried to ignore for so long. Chains that were settling more firmly over her shoulders, growing tighter around her wrists and neck.

A distended feeling, full of panic and weariness, pushed outward from her belly, pushing against her ribs, reaching for her throat, to choke hera balloon grown too large. Emotions too tangled within and around itcreating an almost physical pain.

If only it were a physical pain, a stomachache. Something that could be cured or relieved.

But the swelling desperationthe mixture of bitterness, pride, and fearhad been growing inside her for so long that she didnt know if anything would be left of her true self should the balloon finally pop.

If an unladylike walk down the crowded street could give relief, if only for an hour, shed seize whatever she could scrape.

She felt a warmth at her elbow and a strange desire to shifttoward or against the heat, she wasnt sureran through her, then slipped from her body, attached to two men who were brushing past, one dark-haired and the other light. Long strides outpaced even her determined ones, paving a path through the large crowd ahead. People seemed to unconsciously give the two men space to navigate before closing the gaps created by their fleeting presence.

Barely in her view for more than a few seconds, and hard-pressed to think of their passing as anything other than an odd imagining, a strange feeling lingered nevertheless.

Shaking her head, Charlotte looked over her shoulder. Her maid, Anna, trailed behind her, dragging her feet and peering into the windows of the nicest milliners on Bond Street. Dreaming about pink hats, most likely. Wishing that her mistress would purchase a stylish one, then toss it to her when she tired of it.

But Charlotte looked dreadful in pink.

Other ladies, more delicate, with readier smiles, wore pink like the innocent and lovely color it was. Full of hope and femininity. Fragile and tender.

Emily, even with her rampant mischievousness, was a picture in pink. Charlottes mouth relaxed for a moment as she pictured a jaunty cap on her boisterous, but sincere sister. Perhaps she would return this way and purchase a cap for her.

But there would be no pink hats for Charlotte.

Rich, deep navy blue. Indigo. Midnight. Stark white. Occasionally a hint of cream when she couldnt deny herself. Her entire wardrobe was comprised of the combinations therein.

Shed heard more than one of her rivals snidely remark upon the choice and how her father must have stolen a shipment of blue and white muslin and satin years ago, forcing her to survive on the palette.

Three girls walked toward her, heads pressed together, giggling. so sweet and kind. He makes me feel safe. Another giggle. And Father said I could pursue him. So I did.

You kissed! And you didnt tell us! What was it li

Charlotte could hear the giggling happiness behind her as they passed. The girls laughing together.

She touched the pin at her breast. A lift of soft metal wings. A hint of flight.

A gift from the unlikeliest of new friends. With a clasp that was sure and strong. Well crafted and steadfast.

She blinked to clear suddenly moist eyes. She didnt know what she would have done this last year without Miranda, the new Lady Downing. Most likely shed have become crushed by Bennett Chatsworths machinations, crumbling to dust.

Emily would always be a dear confidante, but Charlotte was fiercely determined that her sister wouldnt share her burdens. That she would be free of them and of their father, as Charlotte had never been.

So she couldnt share her difficulties with Emily. And the distended balloon grew.

Now into her third year on the marriage mart, waiting for her father to decide on the largest crown, the looks she received had started to turn from envy to smug satisfaction. She smiled bitterly. People relied so heavily on appearances.

Fleeting. So fleeting.

That the recently gifted pin was created to withstand an ocean gale, pinned even to the most damaged flag, made her throat tight. Charlotte had worn the pin often enough in the past few weeks that it had started to cause comment. People calling her The Dove.

But even with the glow of the gift, shed never felt less free to fly.

She put an extra clip in her step, fingers slipping from the unusually sharp metal tail. Determined not to fuel the bloated tangle inside. And not to succumb to melancholy. She would weather whatever desperate plan her father next invoked and turn it to her advantage. Build an empire. Carve her own happiness. Allow Emily to be free.

She would do it. Shed gather whatever emotional scraps she needed in order to succeed. Without mawkish sobs into her pillow over what would never be. Their mother hadnt endured twenty-four years as second-best with nothing to teach Charlotte from it.

Charlotte turned down a less-populated side street, thankful for the fewer acquaintances she might encounter. She had four social visits left in the afternoon, then an outing in the park, supper out, two galas, one ladies-only party, and a musicale that evening. The stretch of the social smile that had lately been frozen about her lips strained.

She touched the pin again. But at least now there were ports in the storm.

A passing couple leaned into one another, smiling, their heads touching, melding together. Happiness in being with the one they loved.

She closed her eyes, then opened them again, quickly. For there must be nothing seen to be amiss with the Chatsworths. Just some bad luck at the tables that would turn corking any day now.

She didnt allow morbid laughter to escape the tangle. One of these days, her father was going to embroil them in an entanglement from which they couldnt break free. Or someone was bound to collect on debts they couldnt pay.

The bell on the door of the ribbon shop jangled as the door opened, and two women emerged, shrugging. They turned in a direction away from Charlotte. Charlotte caught the door, somehow prevented the bell from sounding again, and she and Anna slipped inside before it closed.

The shop was dimnone of the lamps were lit in the corners to brighten the merchandise and enhance the meager light that seeped through the front windows facing the alley. She would think they were closed, but Charlotte had scheduled an appointment to pick up the special bows and intricate knots she had ordered. Mrs. Hunsden, a shy woman who made the best ribbons in London, was prompt with orders, and Charlotte planned to wear one of the exquisite creations around her arm tonight.

Good afternoon? she called, aiming her voice to the back of the shop.

Perhaps they went out for a nibble, Miss?

Before she could respond to her maid, she heard a door bang in the back room. A raised voice. Mr. Hunsden screeching. Charlotte had never liked himsmarmy smiles and slick brows, and when he thought no one was looking, quick kicks behind the counter to the shins of his wife. She took a few steps toward the doorway that separated the customer display area from the back of the shop.

She heard Anna mutter about the mans parentage. Charlotte longed to agree but resolutely walked on, eyes narrowed.