Breathless (23 page)

She sighed and pulled her jacket from her shoulders, hanging it on a coat rack, and placed her evening bag on the table in the entrance hall. She hugged herself around the waist, letting this loneliness take its toll on her, and walked into the parlor. It looked just as it always did, with the same walls and the same carpet, the same portrait of Helen's brother looking down at her. She gazed at it for the first time, thinking of everything Wesley had told her. The man in the portrait had the same lovely brown eyes as Wesley, and the same straight mouth. It was so terrible that he had died so young, and had never gotten to know the wonderful person his son had become.

Charlotte sat on the sofa, but only for a moment, before springing back up. She couldn't just sit still. It was all too reminiscent of the long nights when she would wait for her mother to come home from the theatre, but the nights had always lasted an eternity. An eternity of loneliness. She closed her eyes, shaking these memories away, and wandered off into Lewis' study, a place where she never felt alone. As she walked along the wall of bookshelves, admiring his neat collection, she brushed her fingers along the bindings, feeling the soft leather beneath her fingers.

"You're home early."

Charlotte gasped and jumped in surprise. "I didn't see you there!" she cried, trying to regain her breath.

Topher grinned at her from where he was lounging on one of the leather seats in the study, a thick volume in his hands. "Sorry. But I didn't think I should just let you go on without knowing I was here."

"You could have done so in a less frightening way!" Charlotte put a hand to her head and sighed. "What are you doing up so late?"

"Couldn't sleep," he replied shortly, swinging his legs to the floor. "Sometimes when I can't sleep, I like to come in here and just relax by myself. Lewis has never minded. He always told me he liked that someone enjoyed his collection as much as he did. He doesn't care if I'm in here."

"I wasn't going to tell on you for being in here," Charlotte said crossly. She realized she sounded like a brat, but she couldn't help it. A headache had begun to rage in her temples and she was exhausted from the events of the evening. At that moment, she didn't really care if she sounded as rude as Jack had always been to her.

"I know you weren't," Topher replied politely, ignoring her tone. He looked at Charlotte quizzically. "Is something wrong, Charlotte? Didn't the show go well?"

Charlotte was at a loss for words. Something about Topher's big, brown eyes, which reminded her so much of Luc's green ones, made her want to spill everything to him. But at the same time, she didn't want to feel sad anymore. She wanted to talk to someone about her wonderful show, and how beautiful it had been to be onstage.

"Come here," Topher invited, making room for her on the sofa. "Tell me all about it."

Charlotte sighed and gave him a small smile. She let her arms drop to her sides and went to sit next to him, carefully gathering her skirt to herself. She suddenly felt very silly and girlish in her large, elaborate dress.

"So," Topher said, setting aside his book and looking at her with an expectant smile, "How did it go?"

Charlotte frowned for a moment, recalling Jack's sad face as he talked to her in her dressing room; remembering Wesley's kiss; feeling the disconnect between her and Jack at the gala. All of it had left her in such a terrible mood.

"Are you really going to be that hard on yourself?" Topher asked Charlotte with a half smile. "You couldn't have been anything less than great, Charlotte. Lewis has been boasting about you for weeks! Come on, you're keeping me on pins and needles, here."

And even though the night had ended so terribly, a smile spread across Charlotte's face as she remembered how absolutely wonderful it had felt to be onstage with an audience watching her, studying her every move and listening to every word she spoke. She grinned as she remembered the audience standing as she took her curtain call, how they called her name, and how they congratulated her at the gala, as if she really were a star like Helen.

"It was amazing," she told Topher honestly. His eyes lit up with excitement. "I was so nervous before it started...I thought my wig was going to fall off, I was trembling so terribly before it began! But as soon as I walked on for my first entrance, it was as if my heart took over my body. I spoke every line as if I knew them instinctively. I wasn't speaking to my castmates anymore-they were really the characters in the play. Wesley was Leighton and Emilie was really my little sister. And it was as if I were really back in France again, coming to England for the first time. It was like I really became Sylvie. Or...she became me. Either way, I wasn't myself once I stepped onstage. I was her." Charlotte blushed and looked down at her hands. "I know that must sound so silly..."

"No, it doesn't," Topher told her with a smile. "You actually sound a lot like Helen. Are you sure you two aren't really related?" he asked with a laugh, nudging her.

Charlotte laughed back and shook her head. "I wish I was. You don't know how many times I've imagined that I'm really Helen and Lewis' daughter, and that I really do belong in this house." Her smile faded. "But then I realize that it's terrible of me to even think that. Because my own mother really does care about me, in her own way. And my father is dead...so it's terrible to think of him in such a way. And of course I wouldn't have Luc if I didn't belong to my own family. So it's really quite silly of me to imagine myself belonging to a different family."

"We all let our imaginations get the best of us sometimes," Topher told her softly. "Don't think I haven't had my share of daydreams."

"They're probably not as terrible, though," Charlotte commented.

Topher shrugged and toyed with the edge of his sleeve. "I think they're about even. Since we've had the same daydreams."

Charlotte was taken aback. "You wished they were your parents, too?"

"I wished that my life was different," Topher told her. "I wished that I had been born to a more educated family, with a higher standing. I wished that I didn't have to spend my life as the son of a chauffeur and housekeeper, destined to be a chauffeur for the rest of my life. I wished I had gone on to Cambridge and Eton. I wished a lot of things that were really just stupid and pointless."

"But Wesley said..." Charlotte began, unsure if she should say. But Topher looked up at her, suggesting she continue. "Wesley mentioned that your marks were good enough to continue on to any school you could possibly want."

"But with Lewis as my provider," Topher finished. "I wouldn't have been able to pay for it myself."

"I'm sure he wouldn't have minded..."

"I know he wouldn't have. But I would have. And my mother probably would have felt badly that she couldn't provide the education I desired."

"Topher," Charlotte said logically. "Your mother would probably have liked if you had continued your education. She would have enjoyed seeing her son rise up past wherever her family had been before."

"Don't think I haven't already thought all of this over, Charlotte," Topher told her with a smile. "She probably would have liked that. But at the same time, I think she might have felt hurt that her son would be going against everything she and my father had worked for, as if that life weren't good enough for me." He sighed. "I made my decision a long time ago. And...I am content about it. I couldn't possibly work for a better family. And I know that in the future, when I have my own family, that Lewis and Helen will provide for them, as well. I think even Jack would, if he were Master of the House by then."

Charlotte nodded and said quietly, "I'm sure he would. He doesn't show it...but I think he does care for you."

Topher looked up at Charlotte and smiled. "I'd say the same about you."

Charlotte groaned, remembering everything that had happened that evening, and curled further into the corner of the sofa. "That is something I don't want to talk about right now," she told Topher, her hands covering her face.

"Alright, we won't," Topher agreed, nodding. He gathered his book to him. "And I hate to leave at such a dull point in the conversation, but I should be off to bed. Lewis wants to run an errand in the morning and requested I be awake to drive him." He extended a hand to help Charlotte up from the sofa. "But I'm sure you were wonderful tonight, and I can't wait for when I'm able to see you perform." He squeezed her hand and gave her one last smile before exiting the room.

Charlotte looked after him sadly. Even though talking to him had made her feel better, it still felt as if she were standing under a cloud. Topher sometimes reminded her so much of Luc. And she could never decide if that was a good or a bad thing.

As she made her way upstairs to her bedroom, she noticed a sliver of light streaming from under Jack's door. He was still awake. Charlotte hesitantly stood before his door and raised her hand to knock-all she wanted to do was apologize. She had never wanted to hurt his feelings, once again. It felt like she could never do anything right with Jack. She just wanted them to be alright. But then she let her hand drop, and quietly backed away from the door. She didn't have the strength right then to prove to him how sorry she was, or how much she cared about him.

Instead, Charlotte closed her own bedroom door behind her and shed her dress, letting it fall into a puddle of gold around her feet. She slipped into a pair of cool, crisp pajamas, and curled into bed with Lewis' copy of
Macbeth
, as she always used to. But it didn't make her feel any better. She had barely read two pages when the tears began to fall. And even though she covered her mouth, her crying still echoed throughout her room. Charlotte wished Jack would come to her room to comfort her, just as he used to. But he never came.

"Congratulations, Miss Spectacular!" Charlotte awoke the next morning with a start as Celia leapt onto her bed with a massive grin. "Do you realize what the critics are saying about the show? They're raving! And not just about the play-about you! Apparently you are," she tossed a newspaper onto Charlotte's lap, an article circled with pen, "
an astounding beauty with talent beyond her young years
." She shrieked excitedly. "Can you believe that? My best friend is a massively successful actress!"

Charlotte wiped sleep from her eyes tiredly as she took the newspaper, scanning it quickly. "This is just one article, Celia. It doesn't mean anything."

"Tell me that after you've read these," Celia told her, tossing another four newspapers at her friend, each opened to the critics pages. "They're all saying the same thing! You're a success!"

Charlotte shook her head in awe as she paged through the newspapers. "I can't believe it..."

"I can," Celia told her. "I never doubted you for a second. And that's why I woke up at six o' clock in the morning and spent nearly all of my allowance to get you these. But it was worth it. You should send one of the copies to Luc! I'm sure he's dying to find out how you've performed. Do you think your mother knows?" She plopped down on the bed, extending a little pink box to Charlotte. "Here, I got you these, too. Chocolate croissants. I felt they were necessary for the occasion." She grinned and took one from the box, and was halfway done with it before she noticed Charlotte's pale face and mess of hair for the first time. "What's the matter?"

Charlotte looked up at her friend, trying to act as if nothing were the matter. "What do you mean? I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," Celia commented. She frowned. "Charlotte, I can tell. You wear your emotions like accessories. Something's bothering you and it can't be the reviews. So what is it?"

Charlotte hesitated. She had avoided talking to Topher about everything the night before, but Celia was different. And she did need to tell someone about everything, or else she was going to explode and break down. And nobody would want to deal with that.

"I kissed Wesley last night," she finally admitted.

Celia's eyes grew as large as saucers. "Wesley? Your Leighton, Wesley? Jack's cousin Wesley? You kissed him?"

"Actually, to be completely fair,
he
kissed
me
," Charlotte clarified.

"Even better," Celia said, sounding obviously impressed. "Congratulations. He's absolutely gorgeous, Charlotte." She looked confused. "But then, why do you look so upset?"

Charlotte looked up at her friend, hesitant to say any more. She knew Celia had fancied Jack at one point. She remembered seeing them kissing in his room, and recalled the pain of envy she had felt when she had seen them together. But all the same, Celia was her best friend. She was the only person she could trust with understanding her misery.

"Wesley kissed me," Charlotte repeated haltingly. "And then Jack walked in right while we were still kissing."

Celia sat back. "Oh," she said quietly, as if she didn't quite understand what Charlotte was telling her. "And...that bothered Jack?"

Charlotte nodded. "It seemed to bother him. He barely spoke to me the rest of the night. But Celia...it also bothered me. I felt terrible."

"Charlotte, would you please just tell me what you're trying to say?" Celia asked frustratedly.

"I'm upset because Jack doesn't care about me!" Charlotte finally burst out. "And because...I sometimes have feelings for him. Even though I have Wes, sometimes...sometimes I feel like all I want is Jack." After she had finally admitted this to her friend, she felt her cheeks blush. She looked down at the newspapers, avoiding Celia's gaze at any cost.