On a Cold Dark Sea(65)

Charlotte wondered if Sadie blamed herself for the marriage falling apart. She hoped Georgie had been brave enough to tell her the truth.

“Reg was more honorable than me,” Georgie said. “I know that’s a strange thing to say, given his past. He could have married you, and you’d have done his cooking and washing and raised children while he went off and enjoyed his little dalliances. In many ways, marrying you would have been the easy choice. He didn’t do it because he was too fond of you. He was afraid you’d find out who he was and hate him for it. Better to break your heart straight off, when you were young enough to recover. He hoped you would understand, in time. That you wouldn’t cut him out of your life.”

“I didn’t know.” Charlotte’s chest pulsed with remembered pain. “I thought you’d come in and pushed me aside . . . oh, it all sounds so silly now.”

“We were put in an impossible situation, weren’t we? Both in love with the same man, like a cheap melodrama! And Reg felt terrible. It’s a vile feeling, to know you’ve hurt someone you care for.”

It shouldn’t matter, after all this time. But it made Charlotte’s heart swell. She thought of Reg as she’d first known him: bursting with life, always game for a laugh. The man who had changed her life. That Reg had been overshadowed by the man who drowned, the end darkening what had come before. None of that seemed to matter anymore. It was enough to know Reg had loved her. He always had.

“Reg told me to be patient, that you’d come around in time,” Georgie was saying. “I was mad for Reg, so I did my duty and fawned all over you. No wonder you couldn’t stand me.”

“I was wretched to you!” Charlotte managed a rueful laugh.

“I made the same mistake actors do at auditions, when they’re desperate for a part. They talk too much and blast these enormous smiles, begging you to like them. It’s exhausting. Those are the ones who never get the roles.”

How much of Charlotte’s cruelty had been driven by ignorance? I didn’t think it was possible for one man to love another, she wanted to tell Georgie. Or, I didn’t believe your feelings were real. Instead, she simply said, “I am sorry.”

“Apology not necessary, but gratefully accepted,” Georgie said.

“I’ve no doubt your mother would apologize as well, if you saw her.” Georgie shook his head quickly, rejecting this turn in the conversation, but Charlotte kept going. “It seemed to me she was very much under your father’s thumb. When he cut you off, she felt she had no choice but to go along.”

“She was quite Victorian that way. In thrall to her lord and master.”

“She regrets what happened, deeply,” Charlotte said. “I didn’t promise her anything; I only told her I’d try to find Reg when I came to America. If you could have seen her face . . . it’s as if that small hope is the only thing keeping her alive. I hope you’ll write to her, at least, but it’s entirely your decision.”

“Is it?” Georgie asked with an amused scowl.

“One letter. You could make an old woman happy, and no one else need ever know.”

“And if I don’t write, you’ll be back on my doorstep, asking why I haven’t.”

“I’ve train and boat tickets booked—I’ll be back in London next week. I won’t bother you again.”

“Hmmph.” Georgie’s response was noncommittal. He held up his car keys. “Shall we?”

They drove the ten minutes in silence, snaking first down an empty hillside road, then blending into the stream of cars traveling through Beverly Hills. Charlotte felt peacefully empty, cleansed of the anger and guilt that had always obscured her thoughts of Reg. Now, only the deepest, truest layer remained: affection, and gratitude, and a bittersweet tang of remorse.

Georgie pulled up in front of the Sultan’s Palace and turned off the car. He turned to Charlotte and said, “I’ll do it. I’ll write.”

She gave him a look of exaggerated, wide-eyed surprise.

“I’d be a monster if I didn’t,” he said.

Charlotte smiled, thinking how thrilled Lady Upton would be—if her heart didn’t stop from the shock.

“Thank you,” Charlotte said. “I don’t think you’ll regret it.”

“Ever since the sinking, I’ve been determined to have as few regrets as possible,” Georgie said. “I’ve made mistakes, more than my fair share, but I will never lie on my deathbed and think, ‘I wish I’d done that.’ I’ve done everything I wanted.”

“Then you’re a lucky man,” Charlotte said.

She wished she could say the same. There were dozens of things she’d meant to do or say but never gotten around to. She thought of Mr. Healy, and the letter she’d always intended to write. What a coward she’d been.

“You know,” Georgie said, “they’re desperate for voice teachers here. The studios pay very well if you’ve got a posh accent and can teach farm boys how to talk proper.” He dragged the word out, in an overstated twang. “It’s not a bad place to live, Los Angeles. Sunshine year-round, fresh oranges every morning for breakfast.”

Charlotte could envision it, briefly, but that future was a mirage. The girl who’d stepped off the Carpathia might have made a go of it. She was too far along to start over.