“Do you mean to do that?” Alisha asked. “Make people feel amazing? That night I sang at the piano, I’d been pretty low. I was so caught up in the character of Miss Gardenside that I didn’t want to go back to being Alisha. Ever. But I sang as her, as myself, and what you said to me after—I felt like I could be me again and be okay.”
Eddie beamed at Charlotte. “I rather suspect our Charlotte has been a hero to one and all.”
“Stop it, or I’ll get a big head and I’ll have to be refitted for my bonnet,” she said lightly, but really she felt ashamed by their words. Charlotte wasn’t a hero—she’d failed in her marriage, disappointed her children and her own self. At least, that used to be true, but even as she thought those words, they didn’t feel quite as solid as they had before.
“The police chased off the photographer,” said Eddie. “And I spoke with Detective Sergeant Merriman. She’s confident she can keep Alisha’s name out of this since she wasn’t directly involved.”
While Alisha met privately with the detective, Charlotte tried to call her kids at the inn, though, once again, there was no answer.
Eddie walked her back to the house, his silence accompanying her own. Ever since she’d almost died, Charlotte’s longing for her kids had magnified. It was just fine that Beckett called Justice “Mom” and that Lu seemed more content there than at home. Of course it was. She wanted her children to love their father and stepmother, right? She would not selfishly insist on being the sole recipient of their affection. Don’t be ridiculous.
And maybe this came at a good time. Before, she never would have considered extending her vacation. But if her kids were okay, then she could … could … could what? Hang out interminably, like Miss Charming, so she could spend more time with Eddie? What was she thinking?
She wasn’t. It was time to just feel a little bit and do something about it. So there.
“Reginald … Eddie,” she said, “what are you like when you’re not here? Are you an actor?”
Earlier he’d retrieved a practice foil from the secret room, and now he wore it hanging from his belt so he could be armed. Charlotte thought he looked like a Regency secret service agent.
“I’m more of a dancer than an actor, but that’s a game for twenty-year-olds. I’ve done my share of West End productions with Pembrook chaps over the years and recently signed on here myself. Mrs. Wattlesbrook advised me to adopt a character most in keeping with my natural self. Easier to maintain. The women who come here, you can tell they are lonely. It’s a pleasure to dote upon them, to see them smile in earnest.”
“It’s not real love,” Charlotte said softly.
“It mirrors it, doesn’t it? My take is, we’re here to treat the women kindly and send them home reminded of what affection feels like.”
“And so I became one of your projects.”
His smile was slightly exasperated. “You weren’t supposed to be. I’m scripted for Gardenside. But you caught my eye, curse you.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “I have a confession.”
She’d been waiting for this. “You’re married. You’re dating someone. You’re g*y.”
“You are horrid at guessing. No, no, and no. I never thought Mallery deserved you. You’re different, Charlotte. You’re genuine. You deserve better than you’ve had. I don’t know what you’ve had—besides the Mallery incident, that is—but I know you deserve better.”
“You’re just dazzled by my exceedingly fine deductive skills,” she said.
“I didn’t believe for a moment that there was a real murder. I used it as an excuse to stay close to you. I know, I’m uncommonly clever.”
The tow truck and most of the police cars were gone. She had two more nights. If the kids had answered the phone, she’d planned to tell them that she’d be staying longer. Though Eddie hadn’t asked.
As they entered the front doors, Eddie let go of her hand. Charlotte expected that, but it still felt a little jarring.
“There they are,” said Mrs. Wattlesbrook, holding court in the dining room. Colonel Andrews and Miss Charming were eating hamburgers, clearly purchased from town. Alisha was snacking on ice cream.
“Have a seat, Mrs. Cordial, Mr. Grey,” said the proprietress. “We are discussing our remaining time.”
“I don’t want to go home yet,” Alisha said.
“Given the circumstances, I expect the ladies may require a refund.” Mrs. Wattlesbrook lifted one eyebrow and looked around, her tight lips betraying her anxiety.
Charlotte shook her head. “It’s not your fault one of your cast members turned out to be a crazed killer.”
The other ladies concurred, and Mrs. Wattlesbrook’s shoulders relaxed.
“But what about you?” said Charlotte. “If you want to close up shop early, I’m sure we’d all understand.”
“No,” she said, terror widening her eyes. “I do not wish to sit somewhere and think. This is my home. I … like having you here.”
This produced silence. From Mrs. Wattlesbrook, the declaration was almost sentimental.
She cleared her throat. “As for the ball … it was meant to be tomorrow night.”
“Ooh, let’s still have it!” said Alisha.
“Of course we’ll still have the ball,” said Miss Charming, confused. “What kind of Austen joint would this be if we didn’t have a ball?”
Charlotte felt strange at the thought of putting all the clothes back on, pretending to be Mrs. Cordial again. She let her hand dangle at her side. Eddie did the same, and underneath the table their fingers touched.
“I’d like to stay for the last two days,” she said.
And more, she thought.
How much more? asked her Inner Thoughts.
Charlotte didn’t have an answer to that.
“Naturally, for you, Mrs. Cordial,” Mrs. Wattlesbrook said, “I will secure a new partner.”
“Oh.” Charlotte hadn’t thought that part through. Her fingers were still touching Eddie’s.
“And we shall do our utmost,” said Colonel Andrews, arising to bow formally, “to ensure that this one doesn’t try to murder you in cold blood.”
“Thanks,” she said, “but don’t put yourselves out on my account.”