Sanditon: A Sisterhood Forms

51

"Charlotte," he breathed her in again as she hovered before him - his heart skipping maniacally about his chest. Even as he relaxed his hold on her, she did not back away, but remained, her breaths upon his skin, her nose grazing his own as she lingered.

He blinked, eyelashes fluttering as he dipped his head, the soft touch of her fingertips gliding over his cheek, the stubble at his jaw, and he exhaled, overwhelmed before he even knew as her hand cupped his chin, raising it back to her. Her thumb skated over his skin, following the line of his cheekbone as she wiped away the first tear, then the next. "I thought I'd lost you."

She moved inward, her lips brushing over the path his tears had taken, every touch searing into him. He closed his eyes, his breath quickened at the contact, and his heartbeat followed, thrumming in his chest, heightening his senses, sending his mind into a haze.

He looked down at her, his fingers drawn to the capped sleeve at her shoulder, shimmering silver and gold in the firelight, skating over the back of her arm, her skin reacting as he went, over elbow and forearm, circling over the tendons at her wrist, her pulse as alive as his own. "You haven't," she answered, at last.

He watched her breathe, lips parted, the distant sounds from the ball fading to nothingness as he raised her hand, fingertips grazing the fabric of her dress, drifting upwards. Her breathing, fleeting and shallow, the only sound left as he brought her wrist to his lips - her pulse beneath him, now - more rapid than before, mirroring his own.

And as he breathed, his gaze fixed upon the woman he loved, he felt as if his heart would never be silent again.

----------

Charlotte looked down at Sidney, her fingertips travelling instinctively to his neck, her breath caught until she felt the beat of his pulse. "We must go to her," she said, her fingertips lingering for one more sign of life.

"We?" Townshend asked, incredulous, "What do you mean, we ?"

"Arthur may offer up a degree of protection for her, but he is no match for Bridges. They will need our help."

"Allow me to go," Linton said, across from her, "in your stead, Miss Heywood."

"I will not allow anyone to go," Townshend interjected, "Please, allow me to fix this. It is my doing."

"A dangerous plan, if I've ever heard one," Charlotte scoffed. "Tell me, Lord Townshend, are you planning to take down an entire household on your own?"

Townshend looked back at her, an inscrutable expression crossing over his features, "Not entirely alone," he murmured, and he turned back toward the marble hall.

Charlotte and Linton glanced at one another. He shook his head, silently pleading with her.

"Crawley!" Townshend called, off in the distance, his boots clicking upon the marble floor, "Crawley, I need you!"

"Miss Heywood, you can't," Linton implored, "not now."

"If anything happened to her, Linton," she said, looking down at Sidney, "think... think about what he would want, above all else."

"It's time," the doctor called, turning from his table of surgical instruments, a needle and forceps in hand.

Linton and Charlotte each took a shoulder, pressing firmly as the doctor resumed his work, the first suture in place within seconds. She brushed her fingers absently against his neck. The pulse greeted her, still.

"He would want her safe," Linton said, at last, "even if it meant-"

"Her safety above his own. You know as well as I that he wouldn't have it any other way."

"But even still-" he glanced across at her, "it is too dangerous. He would not want you to risk being in harm's way, yourself."

"No," she agreed, "but he wouldn't want either of us to take such a risk."

"Crawley has called for the carriage," Townshend said, walking back into the room, "With Bridges on foot, it is still possible to reach them first." He faltered slightly at the sight that greeted him as the doctor extended his arm upwards, the needle glinting in the candlelight - and placed his hands briefly upon his hips as if to support his own weight, "Please know," he paused, "that I will do everything in my power to bring them back."

Charlotte's gaze was fixed on Linton, "I'm coming with you," she said, breaking away to look over at Townshend.

"You are not," he reproached.

"Yes, I am," she raised her head in defiance, her hands still pressed firmly upon Sidney's shoulder.

"But, surely this is no task for-"

"What, a lady?" she challenged, "Might I remind you that the lady before you was the very person - the only person - to fend off the man you just allowed to escape."

Townshend swallowed, looking uncomfortable as he eyed Sidney's still form upon the table, "Miss Heywood... I really don't think-"

"I don't care what you think," she said, fiercely, "If you presume I haven't considered the reality before me - that at any moment, I might reach for a pulse and find nothing in return - then I would advise you to stop trying to protect me from it. I realise every ounce of risk involved," she said, tears welling in her eyes as she looked between Townshend and Linton, "Can't you see that there is nothing more I can do for him here. But this-" she gestured to the door, "this, I might do for him."

"Miss Heywood-" Townshend started.

"What would you do, if you were in my position," her voice rose, echoing in the expansive room, "tell me, honestly."

He hesitated, looking down at his hands for a moment, "...I-" he swallowed, meeting her eyes, unable to look away until he blinked, averting his gaze again, "I cannot say that I would do any different," he finished, quietly.

----------

Her fingertips brushed his arm, drawing shapes upon it as they sat before the fire, his shoulder pressed against a wingback chair, the only anchor left as he tried to formulate a coherent thought, a way of saying what he really should. That it was time to go back to the ballroom. That Lady Susan and Babington were likely about to release a search party they had been absent for so long. That it was time for them to part.

"Yes, Mr Parker?" she asked, grinning as she shifted, sitting back - her dress like a silver cloud upon the floor. She reached for his arm again, pulling it into her lap. He felt her fingertips resume the patterns along his wrist, and he closed his eyes, distracted from what he was about to say, his thoughts turning to something far more appealing.

He took in the sight before him. Charlotte dressed in her finery, legs crossed beneath her, the firelight that glowed through fallen locks of hair, casting a golden hue upon her face.

Charlotte as he had never seen her before.

"This is how I thought it might be, you know," he said quietly, feeling a wave of comfort flood his senses before realising how unfamiliar a feeling it was.

"What - you thought Lady Wessex's ball would turn out this way, did you?" she glanced back at him, an eyebrow raised.

He laughed, breaking into a grin, "Not in a million years could I have predicted the evening would take such a turn."

"Tell me your meaning, then," she smiled back at him, her eyes reflecting the firelight. "You can't just leave it, now, Mr Parker."

He stared back at her, lips parted. There was no woman alive like this.

Her fingertips skated along the back of his hand, his palm, setting his nerves alight, the air he breathed somehow renewed with her scent upon it, and he could not get enough of it.

He would never have enough.

"Our life," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He traced its edge, mimicking her movements with his fingertips, following the firelight down to her jaw, the pulse at her neck - and again, he was greeted with a heartbeat as wild and erratic as his own.