Page 27 of A Conspiracy in Belgravia
She swallowed. She must be red; her face, her throat, and even her ears felt scalding hot.
He gazed at her another moment, then bowed and left.
Livia trudged up the stairs to her room, closed the door, and flopped down on the bed.
After her first meeting with the still-nameless young man, she had felt a secret excitement—ruthlessly tamped down, of course, exemplified by her midnight jaunt to retrieve the letter about himfrom Mott. Nevertheless, that excitement had lingered, as if she already knew, somehow, that she would run into him again.
But now she was only dejected, convinced that they had exhausted their lifetime allotment of chance encounters.
Why hadn’t she introduced herself? Well, because she had been taught from birth that it wasn’t proper to meet anyone, men or women, but especially men, except via a trusted mutual acquaintance who could vouch for everyone involved. She’d never minded the stricture before because she didn’t enjoy meeting people. But now her unthinking obedience had robbed her of any chance she might have at...
At what?
She stared at the ceiling and cursed under her breath. And then, louder. The house was silent. Her parents hadn’t returned yet. She could hear footsteps and some soft, muffled words from Bernadine’s room—one of the maids must be trying to coax her to eat.
Livia rubbed her face. Why did she do this? Why let her imagination run away on the merest hint of anything? A man spoke to her for two minutes and she was ready to rip London apart to present him with a proposal of marriage.
It was not going to happen. None of it was going to happen. She needed to forget her fanciful conjectures, get up, and check on Bernadine. But the thought of facing Bernadine’s own kind of despondency only made her wish she could sink deeper into the mattress.
The door to her room creaked. Charlotte entered in a striking white day dress with purple polka dots on the bodice and purple stripes down the sleeves, a peaked straw hat trimmed with a matching purple plume in her hand.
Livia sighed—she hated for Charlotte to see her like this.
The next moment she bolted upright. “Charlotte! What are you—wait, that wasyouwith Bernadine? You can’t stay! Mamma and Papa will be back soon.”
“I’ll leave in a minute.”
Charlotte glanced around the room in her usual unhurried manner, before she looked back at Livia with a steady, attentive gaze.
No one would ever label Charlotte tender or loving, and yet Livia had always been at ease with her little sister. She used to believe it was because Charlotte was so peculiar that she herself felt normal. But she’d been dead wrong.
Charlotte knew everything about Livia—and Charlotte did not want Livia to be anything other than who she was. And Livia had not realized how much she needed it until she met the young man and was reminded of what it felt like to be accepted.
“Are you all right, Livia?” Charlotte asked quietly.
Tears, out of nowhere, prickled the back of Livia’s eyes. She wasn’t all right. She hadn’t been all right. And she didn’t know if she would ever be all right for any sustained period of time.
“I manage,” she said. No point elaborating—Charlotte already knew the truth.
“And Bernadine, has she been like that since I left?”
“Some days.”
Livia wasn’t lying. Some days she couldn’t bring herself to go into Bernadine’s room.
Charlotte nodded—and did not immediately say anything else.
Her silence. How Livia missed the companionship of that soft, calm silence. And perhaps this was where she reciprocated Charlotte’s acceptance: She never demanded that Charlotte speak but always waited for it, trusting that when Charlotte had something to say, she would.
Which she did, presently. “You haven’t written since we saw each other on Saturday.”
“I’ve been reading—to study how other people write stories with plots involving strange and mysterious events.”
Charlotte nodded again, walked to the window, and looked out.
Livia’s alarm returned. “Anyone coming back?”
“Not yet.” Charlotte turned around. “I take it you don’t wish to tell me about the man.”
