A Study in Scarlet Women (Lady Sherlock #1)(10)
Livia blinked several times. “I take it you won’t.”
“Those wouldn’t be bad odds at all if we were at a horse race. And they aren’t such terrible odds if we consider that the prize is decades of contented companionship. My problem lies with the stake I’m required to put up: my entire lifetime. Not to mention, unless I bury my husband or divorce him, I can play only once. And of course if I were to divorce my husband, my parents can never show their faces anywhere again—I’ll have effectively done them in, too. So, no. Given the exorbitant costs and constraints, I am not willing to take this gamble.”
She tugged at Livia. Belatedly, Livia realized that they’d come to a stop some time ago and that she stood in the way of an oncoming dogcart. She allowed Charlotte to guide her to the edge of the dirt lane and nodded mechanically at the village doctor who drove past, tipping his hat.
“I take it you plan to wait for your twenty-fifth birthday, then thumb your nose at society and go to school,” she said, when they resumed walking again.
“More or less. Papa asked me to make a good-faith effort to let a man sweep me off my feet and I’ve agreed. But I don’t know why he thinks I’ll weigh contributing factors differently when I’m off my feet. Sometimes I feel I must conclude that Papa doesn’t know me at all.”
That was a deduction that needed no comment. It was Livia’s opinion that Sir Henry still viewed Charlotte as an amusing oddity—or at least still hoped she’d return to being such if he ignored her radical thinking long enough. And it certainly didn’t help matters that Charlotte looked as she did, so emphatically, and one might even say extravagantly feminine, all rotundity and softness, not a sharp angle anywhere.
“Well,” said Livia, “I’ve heard that kissing does affect a lady’s thinking.”
“I’ve been kissed. It’s very nice, but I—”
“What? Who kissed you? When? And where?”
“It was several years ago. But I’ve pledged to never divulge the gentleman’s name—which means I also can’t tell you where the kiss took place, since that would narrow the list of likely candidates.”
Several years ago? Charlotte would have been only thirteen or fourteen at the time. “You never said a thing!”
“You never asked.”
“I—” Livia decided she had better shut up before she blurted out that she could scarcely have wondered whether Charlotte was kissing boys when she had half suspected Charlotte had been sent from Mars to investigate the cultural observances of Earthlings. “How did it happen? Did it take you by surprise?”
“Not at all. I set it in motion.”
“Charlotte! Were you in love?”
“No, I wanted to know what it felt like.”
“But how did you pick the boy? Surely you didn’t draw a name out of a hat.” Livia gasped. “Or did you?”
“I didn’t do that. But I can’t reveal the circumstances that led me to choose him, since that would also give clues to his identity.”
Livia tried a few more times, but Charlotte remained amiably tight-lipped. Livia gave up. “Look at you. You had a ‘very nice’ kiss—and you’ve got a plan of action for your life. That makes me feel completely aimless.”
“Usually one feels aimless because one isn’t sure yet what one wants—until one does, a proper strategy can’t be formulated.” Charlotte studied Livia a moment. “But in your case, it’s possible you know exactly what you want, but you’re afraid to want it, let alone pursue it.”
Livia swallowed. She didn’t ask Charlotte what or how she knew; she didn’t say anything at all. They walked in silence the rest of the way.
As they approached the house, Livia wrapped her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. “What if everything Papa promised was only to mollify you temporarily? It gives me no pleasure to say this, but our father isn’t terribly farsighted—he’d be happy to postpone a problem for another day, let alone another eight years. What if when the time comes, he reneges on his word?”
“I don’t know. Not yet, in any case—I’ll have plenty of time to consider my response.” Charlotte took Livia’s hand in her own. “But if our father should prove a man of his word and sponsor the necessary education and training for me to earn a living, will you allow me to do the same for you in return?”
Livia squeezed Charlotte’s hand, suddenly close to tears. Charlotte seldom initiated physical contact—this was as solemn an offer as the queen could make standing in the middle of Westminster Abbey.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, please do.”
She allowed herself to be briefly carried away by visions of this impossible future, two sisters, united in a most gratifying independence. Would they have a little cottage? Or a nice, spacious suite of rooms at the girls’ school that Charlotte would direct? She could see them sipping tea together on Sunday afternoons, Charlotte with a plate of her beloved plum cake in front of her, looking out to a small garden reserved for their private use.
It was a more appealing future than any she’d imagined yet.
But pessimist that she was, she couldn’t let the occasion pass without a word of caution. “Remember, Charlotte, Papa doesn’t like women. He’d feel a lot more hesitation breaking his word to a man—but you aren’t a man.”