She turned away. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
“Is she going to marry Francis Sales?”
“What makes you ask that?” she cried.
“I don’t know. I just thought of it.”
“Oh, your thoughts! Why, you suggested the same thing, for me! As if I would look at him!”
Charles blinked, his sign of agitation, but Henrietta did not see. “He’s good to look at,” Charles muttered. “He knows how to wear his clothes.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
Charles heaved a sigh. “One never knows what matters.”
“And the Malletts don’t marry,” Henrietta said. “Aunt Caroline and Aunt Sophia and Aunt Rose, and now me. There’s something in us that can’t be satisfied. It was the same with my father, only it took him the other way.”
“I didn’t know he was married more than once. Nobody tells me things.”