An Unpracticed Heart

Chapter Sixteen

Less haunted, she reminded herself, as he bowed in greeting to Lady Alvord and herself. A brief glimpse, that was all, but she saw a touch of that same shadow in his gaze. An indescribable thing, really. A shadow. An emptiness. And she wondered if it was something that could ever truly be eradicated.

They descended the stairs to the pavement below, Lord Cowden leading Lady Alvord to the carriage while Charlotte brought up the rear. She stood a few paces back and waited for her stepmother to climb into the vehicle, to settle herself in her seat, before Lord Cowden turned and offered his hand to her.

She hesitated. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine the carriage door snapping shut and the horses taking off at a trot, leaving her and Lord Cowden alone on the street. An amusing thought, but one she shook from her head as she placed her fingers in his palm.

Before she could raise her foot to the step, he tightened his grip on her hand. She looked at him then, his face illuminated by what light came through the windows of the houses behind her, the golden rectangles spilling their glow out onto the pavement below. She saw more clearly the lines in his face, the shadows beneath his eyes that belied the superficial appearance of good health he'd acquired over the last several weeks. He was still a wounded man, and she could only hope she'd done nothing to add to his injuries.

Her own fingers wrapped more securely around his. She could have paused there. She wanted to, to demonstrate without words the ache in her heart at seeing him again, but instead she moved into the carriage, taking the seat across from Lady Alvord when she was shooed away from settling in beside her stepmother.

Lord Cowden climbed into the carriage last, and without a pause he took the seat beside Lady Alvord. Her stepmother graced him with a smile, her shoulders leaning subtly towards him until he had only to dare a shift in position and he would bump against her. They sat in silence as the step was raised, the door shut, and then a rock and sway as the attendants resumed their positions on the outside of the vehicle. Lord Cowden reached up and rapped the ceiling with his knuckles, and the carriage set into motion, pulling smoothly away from the pavement and onto the street.

"Have you attended the opera before?" Lady Alvord finally spoke when several minutes passed without anyone venturing a word to shatter the quiet.

Lord Cowden cleared his throat. Charlotte watched as he dragged his attention from the window and whatever stultifying air it provided to the already stagnant atmosphere inside the carriage. "I've not had that opportunity, no."

"Oh." Lady Alvord licked her lips. Her gaze darted towards the ceiling as if she could locate another topic of conversation there. "And will you be in town now for the remainder of the season, or will business call you elsewhere again?"

"That depends," Lord Cowden began, speaking slowly, as though he were choosing his words carefully. "On a number of things."

Charlotte met his gaze across the carriage. His eyes glinted, picking out what light they could from the shadowed interior. The rest of his face remained tucked in darkness, though she could not prevent herself from tracing the line of his jaw, his mouth, adding definition to them from her own memories.

They arrived at the theater along with a myriad other carriages. Their driver maneuvered them into the long line that rolled slowly forward, each carriage depositing its occupants in a flurry of silks and feathers and hems tugged up to keep clear of the much left by the horses before them.

Lady Alvord again secured Lord Cowden's arm, offering only a glance to Charlotte before the three of them made their way inside. The heat of the lamps and chandeliers mingled with the breath of hundreds of people made Charlotte pause, her hand at her throat as she sought a breath of air that didn't seem inclined to smother her. Ahead of her, her stepmother pulled Lord Cowden on, and Charlotte wondered if it was Lady Alvord's intention to leave her behind, lost in the crowds that milled around her, the odors of their perfumes and pomades and ill-concealed sweat so strong that she feared she might pass out and be trampled by the unsuspecting throng.