Page 45 of Unforeseen Affairs (The Sedleys #6)

One by one the pulleys hit the stage, each with a horrifying smash.

Colin covered his head, as if his forearm would do much to shield his skull if a wooden and metal pulley half the size of a grown man were to land on him from such a height.

Indeed, he’d once seen a sailor nearly lose an arm when a worn piece of rigging snapped.

Charlotte . My god, Charlotte .

He began feeling about the massive drifts of heavy damask, frantically pushing waves of it aside as he waded through it. Panic set in within seconds.

She’d been right underneath it. It had all come down on top of her.

He ought to have moved faster. He ought to have been closer. Ought to have been onstage with her, not in the wings. He’d failed her.

He felt a wave of dizziness arise in his head, but he ignored it. This could not happen, not now. He had to get to her.

Colin could barely inhale, so thick was the dust floating in the air. But still he scrambled, pushing his hands down into the bunches of fabric, scratching at the swatches, feeling for anything solid beneath the curtain. A horrible voice whispered in his ear, hissing his deepest fear.

No.

And then he felt it. Underneath a bunched-up swath of curtain there was a foot, then an ankle and a leg.

“Charlotte!”

He clutched at it, tugging and gathering up the thick, heavy drape with his other hand. It was an exhausting exercise, so great was the curtain’s weight. Perhaps he was just delirious with fright, but he could have sworn he felt the limb he was holding in place strain against him.

He gradually became aware of the presence of others around him; a throng of muscled stagehands in their shirtsleeves were pulling at the curtain as well, heaving it aside in a desperate attempt to find the people who had been at the center of the spectacle onstage only moments ago.

They struggled for what felt an eternity.

Finally, when it was beginning to seem that there was no end to the sea of heavy fabric, Colin and the other men reached the weighted bottom of the curtain.

Colin seized the portion in front of him and, terrified by what he might find, lifted it to reveal the woman he loved lying limp on the floor, her eyes closed.

“ Charlotte! ”

And then she shifted, rolling gingerly onto her side as she was disentombed from the expanse of velvet. Coated in dust, she sneezed several times in quick succession, then opened her eyes. Her face was streaked with dirt and twisted in pain.

Colin fell to the ground, grateful beyond words, and cradled her head in his hands as he looked her up and down, searching for any hint of injury.

“Colin?”

Her voice was raspy, and so strained that fear struck him anew.

“Yes, darling, I’m here, I’ve got you.”

He lifted her gently into a sitting position. She drew a sharp intake of breath, and her face went pale.

“What? What is it? Are you hurt?”

“The batten…” she said, wide-eyed in disbelief. When she shifted to look up at where it had once been, she gasped in pain.

“What’s wrong?” he asked urgently. At the edge of his vision, he saw Mr. Bass slowly crawl from underneath the other side of the curtain.

“I…” She held her left arm limply against her middle, wincing. “My wrist feels something vicious.”

“What else?”

She moved her legs, bending and extending as she tested each one, then cautiously rolled her neck and shoulders. “I… I feel sore… but I believe the wrist is the worst of it.” She released a shuddering sigh.

The relief Colin felt was so overwhelming he nearly collapsed, as if he were the one all the rigging had fallen on. His eyes stung, and he shut them, letting the tears fall as he offered a silent prayer of thanks.

“Right. Let’s get you off this stage.”

Delicately he scooped her up, cradling her right side against him, and did his best not to upset her injured wrist as he picked his way between the still-hanging curtains flanking the wing.

“Wait!” she gasped. She was swiveling her head about, taking in the scene for the first time. “Mr. Bass! Where has—”

“Right now I don’t give a damn,” Colin growled. “There’ll be time to worry about him later.”

Charlotte looked from the stage to the wing, and Colin saw her eyes nearly pop from her head as she spotted the prone form of Mr. Trenwith, still lying on the floor where Colin had left him.

“Is he—”

“No,” Colin scoffed. “At least, I highly doubt it.”

As they passed Trenwith, Colin paused and poked at him with his boot. There was no movement. Concealing his alarm, Colin kicked the man over, rolling him onto his back with some effort. Trenwith’s chest rose and fell ever so slightly.

“See? Right as rain,” Colin said with a forced cheerfulness.

Charlotte stared at him.

“What?”

“He looks badly hurt,” she stated.

Never before would Colin have imagined himself capable of punching a defenseless man. But Trenwith had threatened to kill Charlotte, and never before had Colin ever loved someone the way he loved her.

“He’ll live,” he said.

“Will the police come?” she asked.

“I’d assume so,” Colin said, “although one of the stagehands in the opposite wing saw everything Trenwith did. He ought to confirm that my actions were all in self-defense.”

With Charlotte in his arms, Colin found his way back to the small dressing room that had been set aside for Mr. Bass. The door was ajar, and he kicked it open.

“They all saw… didn’t they?” she murmured against his coat.

“Who saw what?”

“They all saw the trickery. The stilts, the straps, the—” She drew in a sharp hiss of breath as he lowered her onto a small fainting couch.

“Easy now,” he murmured, kneeling on the floor before her. “Do not strain yourself.”

“I can speak,” she muttered. “At least for now. But I must tell you—”

“There’ll be plenty of time for speaking later,” he fretted.

She set her face into a familiar aloof expression that exuded mild scorn.

Colin turned away, both to hide his smile and to retrieve the champagne they’d left there earlier. It seemed like a lifetime since they’d sent that boy off on his errand. Colin located the bottle, then poured Charlotte a glass and placed it against her lips.

“Drink.”

“Colin, I…” She wrinkled her nose adorably.

“Please, drink. Please . Indulge me.”

She stared at him ferociously, but allowed him to tilt the coupe, and accepted the gently fizzing wine.

Another wave of relief washed over him as she drank.

He would do anything to keep her safe, to keep her with him. He would cede any dreams of returning to sea, would forgo any adventure that she could not be a part of.

For she was now a part of him, in a way that could not be undone.

She pulled back slightly, parting her glistening lips as if she meant to speak.

“Wait,” Colin said, with a genuine smile now. “We ought to—”

He stood up, looking about until he located the other coupe. Grinning, he filled it for himself. It bubbled over the edge in his rush to pour.

Back on his knees next to Charlotte, he lifted his glass.

“We ought to have to a toast.”

“Oh?” A small smile appeared on her lips, her first since she had emerged from the rubble.

“Yes!” Colin was grinning like a fool now, but he did not care.

In the hall beyond the door he heard a ruckus approaching, with theater workers shouting over one another while an authority figure bellowed, “One at a time, lads, one at a time!”

Colin picked up her coupe, now holding one in each hand.

“What shall we toast to?” she asked.

Gently he placed hers in her uninjured hand, waiting to let go until he was sure she could lift it without pain.

“I’ll put that to you, my darling,” he said.

Someone in the hall shouted a question, asking about the identity of the unconscious man on the floor.

Charlotte’s gaze dropped to the fizzing, golden liquid.

Just outside the door, the voice of the authority figure responded, “We’ll bloody well find out, won’t we?”

Colin glanced through the crack in the doorway, but he could not see anyone in full; just a churning mix of humanity passing back and forth.

Then a new voice cut in, high-pitched and demanding: “And where’s Sir Colin Gearing? Someone said he’d be available for commentary!”

“Blast,” Colin hissed. “Newspapermen.”

Charlotte looked at him, clearly quite amused.

“I saw him myself! He threw himself atop that young lady!” another new voice called out.

“No, he didn’t,” cried a young boy. “She was nearly crushed like that Mr. Bass, wasn’t she?”

Charlotte’s grin quickly faded; she looked down uncertainly at her champagne.

Colin’s chest tightened. “Well?” he whispered, not wanting to alert the mob to their presence just yet.

“I saw my mother.”

A chill immediately ran through him, and he caught his breath. For a moment he found his gaze drawn to her glass as well, staring with undue attention at the tiny tracks of bubbles rising to the surface. He set his own glass down on the floor next to him and sat back on his heels.

“Do you not believe me?”

He looked up into her eyes.

“Of course I do,” he said, realizing just in that moment that he meant it.

She nodded almost imperceptibly before continuing.

“She was on the stage out there.”

Colin strained to hear her over the noise outside the door; the men were shouting now about the damage to the theater.

“She was looking for me. I… I just know it, with such certainty, almost as if she’d been calling right into my ear.”

Thankfully, the noise of the crowd outside finally began to fade; their calls and footsteps moved further away, deeper into the maze of backstage halls.

“Was it before the curtain came down?”

Charlotte nodded solemnly. “Right before Mr. Trenwith took hold of me. She was looking… and I whispered back, but… I do not know if she saw me. I think she did. I think I felt her, but… I am not certain.”

To Colin’s shock, a single tear fell from her eye, and traced a path through the dust down her cheek. He recalled her in the back room of Mrs. Stone’s shabby little shop, her eyes fiery with determination. I want to know… everything. What exists beyond these decaying, corporeal vessels.

Her mother. She’d always longed for her mother, who had been ripped from her life so prematurely.

The only parent she’d known. The only person who had loved her in those first fifteen years of her life.

Colin did not know much about Nancy Jutton, but he felt Charlotte’s deep longing, the ache of the wound her mother’s death had left her with.

In some ways it echoed his own loss and despair for Bernard, dead for so many years now.

The loneliness of being the only child left behind, with all of his parents’ hopes and expectations now pinned unfairly upon him.

But it was not quite the same. For Charlotte’s longing was something rather greater, so intense and consuming that it came off her in waves, lapping at his own feet no matter how far from her he was.

Colin reached for her, and brushed away a second tear with his thumb.

“She saw you,” he breathed. “I am certain. She knew you were here.”

“But how?” Charlotte choked, her voice barely above a whisper. “If you did not see her for yourself?”

“Because she loved you, more than anything. And love like that, it…” He paused, hoping that his sentiment could rise above the clumsiness of his words. “It does not leave the earth when the body perishes. It cannot help but find its way.”

“How can it be as simple as that?”

She looked up from under her wet lashes—so solemn, but eager for his reassuring kindness.

“I’m not sure. I daresay no one is.” He smiled sadly at her. “But I know that… having fallen so utterly and devastatingly in love with you, I do not think you could ever leave my soul, Charlotte Sedley, in either this world or the next.”

He placed a gentle kiss upon her forehead before sliding his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a soft embrace. She buried her face in his shoulder, awkwardly holding her champagne away from the both of them.

After a minute she lifted her coupe, her face still pressed against him.

“A toast, then,” she said, slightly muffled.

“Oh?” Colin chuckled. He smoothed the back of her hair with one hand. “To what, then? Cunt and gunpowder?”

“No.” She pulled back and sat up straighter, her eyes fervent. “To Sir Colin Gearing.” She hoisted the coupe higher.

Colin loosened his hold on her, and raised his glass as well.

“Whom I love,” she said, watching him as her lips slowly formed every sound, “more than I ever thought it possible to love another person. More than I ever expected to love… but I do. Love you.”

Setting his glass down, Colin took her in his arms and brought her as close as he dared, not wishing to jostle her wrist.

He kissed her, long and slow, wishing they’d need never come up for air.