Sanditon: A Sisterhood Forms

30

In just over an hour, Charlotte and Susan had spoken to two Dukes, a Baronet, several ladies and the Marquess of Townshend - who, judging by his intense interest in discussing any topic related to Charlotte, appeared to be undeniably taken with her. Even she observed the blush upon his cheek, how his eyes lingered on her while she spoke, and eventually, how he had managed to find ways to move closer to her in their circle, attempting to cut off others from the conversation, isolating her to the point where she began to wonder whether Susan might have to intervene. But there was one very obvious detail that kept her from signalling for assistance. For every moment the Marquess caught her eye, she found that she often had to look away in order to prevent a blush of her own - for the Marquess of Townshend was extraordinarily handsome.

He wore the finest tailored clothing she had seen among younger men of the Beau Monde that evening. The deep pine green of his tailcoat matched his striking green eyes, and a mass of dark wavy hair fell upon his brow lending a softness to contrast the sharp, masculine lines of his face. He had begun to ask about her own background, her life in Willingden and how she came to London, and she felt an overwhelming sense of relief at the normalcy of their conversation. He was kind to her and appeared genuine in his interest to the point where she found herself drawn to him as well. But as their topic of conversation returned to that of Sanditon, their surroundings in the expansive ballroom began to grow smaller by the second, the music became less noticeable to her ears, the heat from the crowd too oppressive.

"Miss Heywood...are you quite alright?" he asked, concerned. Her breathing had increased along with her heartrate, until she felt as if she were in immediate need of an escape.

"Yes, yes, quite...I just feel as if I could use some air."

He brought his hand up to her arm and, clearly thinking better of his actions, dropped it back to his side. "Do you wish for an escort? Is there something I might do to help?"

"No," she shook her head. "It is quite alright. I should only be a moment, excuse me," she said, her breath catching in her chest as she turned away. She signalled to Susan that she would return shortly, and made her way to the nearest wing, stepping through a set of curtains to reach a rather picturesque set of doors, propped open so that guests had easy access to the balcony beyond them.

She leaned against the open doorway, breathing in the fresh air deeply, attempting to cool herself from the heat of the crowds, the candlelit chandeliers, and she had a sneaking suspicion that Lord Townshend's presence may be somewhat to blame as well.

It was at this very moment that she noticed she was not the only person in the vicinity. A hunched figure leaned against the balcony's balustrade, looking out upon the courtyard below. A waft of smoke reached her before she noticed the small glint in the darkness from its source. "Pardon," she said, apologetically, "I didn't realise that someone else was already here."

The figure turned sharply, immediately, at the sound of her voice. "Charlotte?"

Her eyes grew wide, and she promptly turned to look over her shoulder, certain that a second voice was about to discover them both. She felt a hand close around her arm, and before she knew what had happened, she had been dragged out onto the balcony and pushed up against the stone exterior, ivy tickling the backs of her arms, her neck, as she breathed in the exhalations of smoke from the man in front of her. "Sidney, what is the meaning of this?" she seethed.

Sidney looked behind him, to the wing where Charlotte had only just emerged, his arm pressing her further back into the ivy, as if he might succeed in making her disappear altogether. "She is here, Charlotte," he whispered ominously.

"And this is a less compromising place for me to be, is it?" she said, irritated, " I would hate to have to claim my innocence were we to be found as we are at this very moment."