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A Chance Encounter?
The invitation from Elsie McInerny duly arrived in the evening post and was immediately accepted; so it was that on the Thursday following their meeting, Charlie set out for the home of the Viscountess Kirkleith to take tea with the sisters.
The house she was shown into was magnificent, with a vaulted ceiling in the main entrance and marble floors. Charlie felt a bit like a goose in a swan’s nest as she slowly walked through the vestibule, head swiveling from one side to the other. And yet she felt certain that all would be well. Elsie didn’t seem to have a pretentious bone in her body, and Viscountess or not, Charlie hoped the same applied to her sister.
At the announcement of her arrival, Elsie herself came from the depths of the house, hands outstretched. “Welcome, welcome indeed!” Charlie found herself the gratified recipient of a hug and two kisses, one on each cheek. “Come into the little parlor—Ione and I have set up tea there so we could be cozy. Sometimes all this,” she gestured to the grandeur of the entry as they walked, “can be a bit overwhelming.”
Elsie led her to a room of much more comfortable proportions, where the dark paneling was offset by gay chintzes and toiles in rosy pinks and leafy greens. The tea service was set up on a low table before a settee and a pair of armchairs; seated nearby was a young woman, not much older than Elsie herself, with glossy raven hair and vivid blue eyes. “Miss Whitfield,” Elsie introduced her, “this is my sister, the Viscountess Kirkleith.”
The viscountess beckoned them into the room and indicated that they should sit down and make themselves comfortable, her manners warm and welcoming, though not quite as informal as those of her sister. “Miss Whitfield, I’m so happy to meet you. Elsie has spoken of you with great fondness. I’m sorry I could not make your luncheon, but I’ve been rather tired since arriving from Scotland.”
“Oh, not at all, my lady,” Charlie quickly spoke up, sitting in the armchair opposite while Elsie took the settee. “I do understand—I was rather exhausted after coming from Loch Ness.”
“And now I must shock you by breaking Society’s dictates and asking you to call me Ione, as you and Elsie are already friends,” the dark-haired beauty replied. She offered Charlie a warm smile, one that was as friendly as her sister’s. “I am still adjusting to all the titles myself. Why—just the other day, someone announced the Viscountess Kirkleith, and I’m afraid it took a moment for me to realize it was I they meant!”
That put Charlie at ease and she laughed. “I can only imagine what that must be like.”
Their tea service was especially delicious, with cakes and tiny sandwiches and crumbly, sweet biscuits, and Charlie thoroughly enjoyed the company of both women. Though the setting was one of the grandest she had experienced, the companionship and conversation could not have been more congenial.
It was halfway through their second round of tea when Ione seemed to turn a little green. She nudged her plate away, hand drifting over her mouth just a bit. “Oh dear, this is getting rather tiresome,” she murmured, and it was obvious that the comment was in regards to her sudden shifting pallor and not anything Charlie might have said or done.
“Are you quite all right?” Charlie asked, brow furrowing in concern.
The other woman shook her head and managed a weak smile. “I am, but I...” she paused, closing her eyes a bit and taking a breath before she continued. “I’m afraid that the second cake is not agreeing with me. I’m sorry, but I think I must excuse myself.” She pushed away from the table. “Do carry on without me,” she added, even as she hurried from the room in a flurry of lace and silk.
Charlie watched her go before turning to Elsie. “Is your sister ill?”
“I don’t believe so,” the other woman replied, “but I will ask my husband to look in on her when he returns. He’s a doctor, you know,” she clarified. “I think I mentioned that we are bound for America—in some ways I cannot wait to go. The society to be found here is not always as enjoyable as my present company,” she smiled at Charlie, “although I must say that this trip has been something of a revelation—for both Ione and me, I believe, though I mustn’t speak for her. But you know she was only Miss Brentwood when she left at the end of last Season, and now she returns as a viscountess.”
Charlie cast another glance at the empty doorway. “I imagine it does take some adjusting. I can sympathize with that.” She offered Elsie a little smile, gesturing to her gown and the room. “All of this has been new to me as well. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and hardly recognize the face reflected within the glass.”
“That’s exactly what I mean—I had a similar experience recently,” Elsie remarked, “and I entirely understand.” She poured out another cup for each of them. “In my case I had become used to thinking of myself one way, and—” She blushed. “Well—when I met Ross, I found that I was quite different. And I liked the newer Elsie much better.”
“It is... astonishing how the presence of one person can send such ripples through the world you’ve grown accustomed to,” Charlie remarked quietly. “And then when they’re gone everything seems to have shifted.”
Elsie nodded. “I have thought about it at some length, for I did not like to believe that a single man’s opinion would change me so profoundly,” she replied. “And I have concluded that our truest friends and lovers are those who hold up a mirror to who we are and show us our best selves, for that is how they see us.”
Charlie thought about that for a moment. “It can mean uncomfortable changes, but I suppose change is part of growth, and growth is part of being alive.” She sighed thoughtfully. “I believe in thinking of change as progress, at least for myself. And as it has led me to tea in a lovely home, and the company of new friends, then I think in this case that is correct.”
“Then I believe we should drink to progress, though this is only tea,” Elsie replied with a grin, and held up her cup. “To progress—and to new friends!”
Charlie leaned forward, and raised her cup to join Elsie in the toast. Perhaps the friendship and company of people her own age was what she’d come to London to find. She set her teacup down again and grinned at her companion. “And now, I must hear more about these plans for America. You said your husband was offered a position as head of a clinic. Do you plan on helping him in his work?”
“Oh, yes—I try to help him all I can. He has said we make a good team.” Elsie put her cup down too, and her expression grew more serious. “Charlie, I must confess something to you.”
“Oh?” Charlie kept her tone level and light, though she suddenly felt a bit nervous. “What might that be?” She began fidgeting with her teaspoon, mentally bracing herself for whatever her new friend felt the need to confess.
“We have an acquaintance in common,” the other woman began, “but though that knowledge might have informed my desire to meet you, it was you yourself that made me realize we should be friends, and that will not change.” She sighed. “My husband’s closest friend is Asher Burton—I believe you know him.”
Charlie dropped the spoon, filling the room with the clatter of silver against porcelain. She righted the silverware, and folded her hands in her lap. “I do.” The words were quiet, and forced through a tight throat. She swallowed and looked up at her companion. “Mr. Burton helped me through a difficult time. He did mention that two of his friends were recently married. I... hope he’s doing well.”
“I’m so sorry,” Elsie said gently. “I ought not have said it so boldly. He is well physically, I believe; but he seems to be suffering from some disturbance of spirit.”
A pang of concern for Asher filtered through the painful constriction in her chest. Had things not ended as they did, she would have rushed to him, offering what solace she could. But... “I’m sorry to hear that. He was a great comfort when I was in need.” He’d been more than a comfort, he’d made the sun shine through the clouds of her despair, and he’d brought her uncle back to her. And then the sun was snuffed out and the night darker than it had been before—darker and more lonely.
Even with all the new people and experiences, that loneliness prevailed. Aunt Callista had seen something of it, and had offered to listen, but the wound was still so raw, and Charlie needed her brevet-aunt to be separate from that. Yet holding all of the pain and confusion inside felt unbearably heavy. Perhaps Elsie, so newly married and obviously in love, might understand.
“May I confide in you?” Charlie began slowly. “For there is a matter that weighs on me, and will not be eased.”
“You may, with perfect confidence,” Elsie replied. “Asher is a good man, but according to my husband, he can be stubborn as a badger in its den, and I suspect that what weighs on you weighs on him as well.”
Charlie shook her head. “No, he made it perfectly clear that he did not wish to continue our... friendship.” She fiddled with the handle of her teacup. “I thought it might have been more than that. For he... we shared a great deal together. I hope that what I say will not sully your opinion of me, but I’ve had no one to speak to and I feel such a fool.” She finally looked up. If she was to reveal herself, it would be with head held high. “Mr. Burton and I kissed.”
“You need not fear judgment from me.” Elsie reached across the table to touch Charlie’s hand. “It can be very easy for such things to happen when you feel close to someone.”
Charlie nodded, blinking back tears. “I have never felt so close to anyone. I thought that he returned my affections. In fact, I could have sworn I heard him call me ‘love’.” She dashed at her cheeks. “But I must have been mistaken. We were in the midst of a terribly tense situation, and perhaps I only heard what I wanted to.”
“I doubt that very much—you do not at all strike me as someone given to those sorts of fancies.” Elsie was quiet for a moment, her brow furrowed. “I can’t claim to know Asher well yet—I expect you know him better than I, after your recent experiences, but if I might offer some advice?”
“You may. I would welcome it,” Charlie replied, hoping that Elsie’s outside perspective might offer some path to relief. “To be honest, I’ve been at my wits’ end over all of it.”
“It seems to me that to lure a particularly stubborn badger from its lair, one might tempt it with something particularly tasty that it cannot find inside.” Elsie tilted her head, considering. “Further, I would add that if the badger is fool enough not to appreciate what it might have if only it would set foot outside, let the fool thing starve.” She offered Charlie a small smile. “By which foolishness I mean that you should show Asher what he is missing, and keep it out of reach until he comes after it. And if he does not, then he isn’t worthy of your affections.”
Charlie considered Elsie for a moment, then slowly smiled. “I am glad I met you, Elsie McInerny, even if you’ll be off on an adventure soon.”
There was a commotion from the entryway at the front of the house. “ASHER!” a man was shouting. “I don’t think we’re expected—they’re probably not at home—ASHER!”
Elsie looked at Charlie with the liveliest expression. “Chin up,” she whispered.
Charlie’s eyes went wide, her shoulders tensed. For a moment she had the most ridiculous inclination to jump out of her chair and duck behind the nearby settee. But then she remembered her recent encounter with a murderous Fae and decided that if she could face a creature like that without hiding behind the furniture, the likes of Asher Burton could be dealt with easily enough. She forced her shoulders to relax and lifted her chin, smiling serenely at her companion.
“They’re here somewhere, Ross,” Asher replied to his friend’s assertions, marching through the house. “Even if they’re ‘not at home’, they’d be home to us. You are living here for the next couple of weeks, after all. They’re probably in Ione’s parlor,” and so saying he strode to that room and opened the door. “Ah! You see, here’s Elsie, an—d—” A familiar golden head sat across from his best friend’s wife—but—no, it couldn’t be—
Elsie glanced up at him. “There you are, Asher. Do come in and join us—I’ll ring for a fresh pot. I believe you are already acquainted with Miss Whitfield?” She suited actions to words, rising to ring the bell while Asher stood gaping like a fool.
Charlie’s green gaze locked on him calmly. “Mr. Burton. You seem rested after your efforts on my uncle’s behalf.”
“I—” His face felt hot, his collar too tight. Asher swallowed. “Yes, thank you, I’m quite recovered. You look very...” Beautiful, his mind supplied. Desirable. Lovely. “Er—very well. What brings you to London?”
“A little thing called the Season,” Elsie supplied, clearly disdainful, and when he looked over at her she was rolling her eyes. “Really, Asher.”
“Ah. Yes. Of course.” Feeling like a complete idiot, he edged into the room and took a seat. Ross stepped in behind him and joined his wife on the settee, exchanging delighted smiles with her. Not a minute later the tea trolley rolled in and the maid deposited fresh supplies on the table.
Elsie poured out again. “Ross, my love, this is Miss Charlotte Whitfield, who has very kindly come to tea. Charlie, my husband, Dr. McInerny. I may have mentioned him. I thought you were going to that lecture at the museum,” she said to her husband.
Charlie chuckled, the same warm sound Asher had heard in so many dreams since leaving Loch Ness. She smiled at his best friend. “You might have mentioned him once or twice. I’m delighted to put a face to the name.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Whitfield. My wife has mentioned you as well—quite often since your luncheon the other day.” Ross leaned forward to put a cake on a plate, then addressed Elsie. “And yes, we were to attend the lecture, but Asher decided he wasn’t in the mood for the activity, and insisted we come here instead.”
Charlie demurely picked up her cup and sipped at it. “I do hope you are not too put out by the sudden change, Dr. McInerny. I read about that lecture. I’m certain it would have been a fascinating oration.”
Asher opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I’m sorry to make you miss it, Ross,” he offered, and cast about for something else to say. “And how have you found the Season thus far, Miss Whitfield?”
Charlie turned her attention back to Asher, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Well, it has only just begun, but it’s been marvelous thus far, full of intriguing prospects.” She lowered her gaze for an instant. “I’ve enjoyed making new acquaintances, and seeing all of the wonders London has to offer.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Asher replied diplomatically, and was dismayed to hear his voice asking (without any conscious input from him), “and have you met many new people?”
Charlie considered him for a moment. “Several, as a point of fact. Some meetings have been more engaging than others, but each new introduction brings new possibilities.” She sipped her tea. “A good scholar never dismisses such things.”
Asher could feel his teeth grinding and reached for a biscuit. New possibilities? Did she mean—what did she mean? “Excellent,” he managed after a moment or two. “And what have you enjoyed most thus far?”
“I’ve most enjoyed meeting new and interesting people,” Charlie reiterated calmly, as though he were a schoolboy unable to take in the day’s lesson. “And what about you, Mr. Burton? As I recall, you were quite anxious to get back to your business here.”
“Ah. Yes.” Asher cleared his throat. “I’m on leave just now, so I’m at liberty for a while longer.” He could feel his face heat as he realized the implication of his response.
Her eyes met his briefly, and the same hurt he’d seen at their parting at the inn was clear, even in that second of connection. “I see.” She looked away, blinking a little. “I hope you enjoy your time of leisure.” After another moment she started to gather her things. “I should go.” She offered Elsie a warm, though somewhat strained, smile. “Thank you for having me, Elsie—it’s been a delightful afternoon. Dr. McInerny, it was lovely to meet you.” She rose from her seat and inclined her head toward Asher. “Mr. Burton,” she said coolly, and then she headed rather quickly for the door.
Elsie’s glare pinned Asher to his seat; the redhead hurried after her friend. “We’ll meet again for tea,” he heard Elsie say, “at a nice tea room somewhere, perhaps.” Asher made it into the entry in time to see the door closing behind Charlie. He itched to go after her—even took a step or two toward the door—then faltered. A clean break was still best.
Wasn’t it?
“Excuse me.” Elsie returned, slipping past him in a welter of silk, the scent of heather, and an air of indignation.
Ross was standing in the doorway with a half-eaten biscuit. “That went well. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a tea end more abruptly.”
“Shut up.” Asher tried to glare at him but it was a half-hearted effort at best. “I’m trying to do the right thing.”
Ross popped the rest of the biscuit in his mouth. “Because you don’t love her?” He chewed for a bit, then swallowed. “Or because you do?”
A sense of complete stillness came over Asher, followed by a jumble of emotions he didn’t know how to name. He let out a breath. “I’m going home,” he told his friend shortly, and stalked out of the house, hat, coat, and gloves be damned.
His teeth clenched so he wouldn’t shiver, Asher hailed a hansom cab and gave the driver his address, huddling in the back until the carriage stopped at his door.
He ignored the questions from his housekeeper about his lack of outerwear, hurrying up the stairs and slamming the door behind him. Of all the fool questions for Ross to ask, that one really rang the bell. He was trying to do the right thing because it was the right thing to do. Asher’s life wasn’t fit for entanglements, and Charlie wasn’t the sort of girl one got entangled with anyway. She was better than that, and he... was trying to be, and it was aggravating that his friends refused to see that. Weren’t they the ones who knew him best? And Quinn, in particular—he was in the same line of work, and had had to break off countless liaisons, discourage numbers of young ladies with stars in their eyes. Why was this any different?
He poked up the fire and flung himself into an armchair, willfully ignoring any answer that tried to make itself known. After a long while, he got up, paced a bit, and then found his sketching materials, and began to draw a golden-haired sylph in a leaf-green dress, losing himself in the effort of recalling every detail.