Page 27 of Unforeseen Affairs (The Sedleys #6)

He felt as though he was about to fall over.

Lightheaded and morose though he was, Colin did not want to remain at home. He wished to go out, to see people, to laugh and forget about his cataclysmic failures and unfulfilled promises.

But he could not go to the Rag, his club, for the friends there would be full of excitement and stories of their exploits at sea.

Men who had just returned, or were preparing to ship out again.

Colin wished more than anything that he’d never been cursed with this nonsense with his head.

How different things might have been for him then.

He would likely be halfway around the world right now, commanding his own tidy ship.

His crew would be strong and diligent. Their ports?

Perhaps Malta, perhaps Alexandria. He would send Alice a letter wherever they docked and buy her a trinket here and there.

Ribbons for her hair. Spools of Italian lace, bolts of Chinese silk. Life would be just as it should.

But Colin had been dealt a different hand, and now he was instead hiding away in the library, reading the same paragraph about the news from India over and over again and thinking of how he could not even visit his club for a bit of cheer and good company.

How he could not even walk the halls of his family home without being caught in the disappointed, unyielding stare of some long-gone Gearing in a blue coat and epaulettes, more decorated in their portrait frame than Colin would ever be.

Worrying that if he turned his head too quickly, he’d set off a cascade of dizziness that would feel even ghastlier and last for who knew how long.

And besides, were he to venture out to the Army and Navy Club, he might see Beaky there, and he would be forced to admit his failure. Or, even worse than that, he’d encounter his father.

At least by staying home Colin could keep to his room and the library, relatively safe boltholes for one who wished to avoid the overbearing presence of one’s paterfamilias .

But no matter where he went, he could not escape his thoughts of Miss Sedley.

A week had passed since his attempt to quickly deposit her at her family’s home had turned into a spontaneous dinner with them.

A week he’d been weathering the storm of dizziness, fighting against the thick heaviness of his head and the fogginess of his mind.

A week to dream of her, breathless against the wall with her fingers in his hair and her mouth open to his.

She’d been so pretty that night, in that pale blue dress that tempered her seriousness and made her seem less like a shade and more like a real young lady with enchanting dark eyes and a warm, soft body.

He wished he didn’t want her.

Things would be so much simpler if he didn’t, if he hadn’t finally given in and taken himself in hand one evening while remembering their kiss in the alley, imagining what might have been if he’d been bastard enough to lift her skirts and slide his hand—

A knock upon the door brought Colin back to his senses. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair just before the door opened.

“Yes?” he croaked, before clearing his throat. He had spoken hardly a word out loud all day.

“Ah, so here you are.”

His mother entered, looking over the room as though she were seeing it for the first time. Colin hurriedly stood up. He’d been expecting a servant.

“Mama, I—”

“I was beginning to wonder where you’d gone to.” She swept into the library and motioned for him to sit back down. “I confess, I looked everywhere else in the house when I should have known to come here first.”

“I apologize, Mama, it’s just—”

“Your father thinks I’m coddling you,” she said as she came to a stop before the wide sash window. “Perhaps I am.”

She stared out into the distance, holding her hands loosely before her.

Colin knew his mother well, and could see that the sadness about her eyes was more pronounced than usual.

She’d been thinking of Bernard. He felt a pang of guilt.

With all the madness of the first séance and its fallout, then the spectacle of the second and his untimely fascination with Miss Sedley, he’d neglected his own family.

Neglected his duty.

“It’s your head, darling, isn’t it?”

She would not turn and look at him directly, choosing to train her gaze out the window as intently as if she were counting the chimney pots that dotted the roofs of the houses opposite theirs.

Colin’s throat felt thick and dry. He swallowed, wondering how to answer her.

“Yes,” was all he finally managed. “I did not wish to trouble you with it.”

“Oh Colin, ’tis not a trouble to me.” She smiled sadly. “It is my only wish to see you well and back to yourself.”

Colin shut his eyes.

“Dr. Collier advises me to temper my expectations on that front,” he said. “He says that normalcy may be a long way off, and that actively wishing for it will only hinder my recovery.” He did not want to speak of it so bluntly, but there was no getting around it. He frowned.

Now his mother turned, her expression a pained echo of his.

“And this new doctor, is his judgment sound?”

“Very much so, I’m afraid,” Colin smiled sadly. “He’s a cracking whist partner to boot. Never lost when we’ve teamed up.”

“Perhaps, then, you might consider setting your sights on something more conducive to… recovery.” She said the last word as if it were a taboo, barely above a whisper.

It hurt to hear.

“Something more conducive?”

Suddenly he was a small boy again, being chided for tussling with his brother and upending a side table that held some delicate porcelain ornament.

“Do you know,” his mother said with a sad, but fond, smile, “you are so dear to me. Perhaps if you were to marry, to set up your nursery, you would understand.”

“Lieutenants shouldn’t—” he began to recite, but she cut him off again.

“I know, darling, I know. But you’ve been knighted now. Surely that’s enough to make one’s career? You’ve quite the fortune with the prize money. If your head will not cooperate, I don’t see the need to—”

“Cooperate?” Colin stood up, heart pounding as if he had just come under fire.

“Calm down, darling, calm down! Recall, your head!”

She hurried over to him, and with a gentle hand upon his shoulder, eased him back into his seat.

It was worse than if he were just a lad being scolded. He was now an angry, ill-tempered lad being cosseted and soothed after he’d carried on. He burned with shame. The shame of being the lesser son, the overeager midshipman… the na?ve, accidental hero.

“It’s only just…” Her voice wavered. “Perhaps it would not be such a bad thing, retiring.” She patted his shoulder maternally. “There are other young ladies out there besides Miss Pearce, you know.”

He set his jaw. “There is no understanding between Miss Pearce and I.”

It felt terribly harsh to say it aloud.

“Well, I am glad to hear it,” his mother said. “Of course, not that there is anything wrong with Miss Pearce, but… it could not be borne, the association. Not with her brother and all that nasty business.”

She patted his shoulder again—nervously, hesitantly this time. Colin reached up and placed a calming hand upon hers even as his mind took off racing, recalling Miss Pearce and Beaky and his own failures and the feel of Miss Sedley’s lips.

Could he do nothing right? He still rose early every morning, as he had while at sea. He still was the same Colin, the same young man who clung to his rules, desperate for a routine.

And yet, now there was nothing for him to achieve.

Not since he’d lucked into the thing that had earned him all his notoriety, which he still could not make heads or tails of.

He’d only done what was necessary, to the best of his abilities.

And now all he wished for was to return to a normal career.

To no longer be recognized and admired, but simply do his part as a cog in a greater machine.

It seemed cruel, the idea of giving it all up, and he not even near thirty. That shame rose within him once more, bilious and vile.

“Do rest up, darling,” his mother said, with one more desultory pat on the shoulder before drawing away. “By the by, these came for you today. I figured I’d bring them up to you.”

She produced two small letters, peering closely at them before placing them before him on the library table.

One he recognized instantly as Beaky’s handwriting. The other was unfamiliar to him. His heart leaped. He reached for the mystery envelope with an eagerness that startled him. So much so that he froze, then slowly drew his hand back.

“Thank you, Mama,” he said, donning his warmest smile.

She glanced back at the letters, her gaze lingering upon them before looking back to him with a cheerful grin of her own.

“Of course. Try not to fret overmuch.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, but she’d already turned to leave.

He stared at the envelope addressed in the unfamiliar hand, the letters long and spindly, curling haphazardly about the paper.

He snatched it the instant the door shut. It was a brief missive, with no salutation beyond his name written on the outside.

Shall we continue our partnership? If so, let us meet. Preparations for the next operation are already underway.

The usual place. Tomorrow afternoon.

Then, with neither flourish nor any regards, she’d simply signed her first name.

–Charlotte

Not Miss Sedley. Charlotte. He repeated it to himself, wondering how it might feel upon his lips to address her as such. Then to tuck a lock of that silky hair behind her ear, to trace the line of her neck with his fingers…

He folded the letter, suddenly aware of how rapidly his chest was rising and falling.

Fool.