“Visited us?” Robert blinked at Emily. “Well, not very many in these last weeks, though some have come to pay their respects. It is the season of goodwill, after all, Emily.”

“Yes, and who has called on you, Robert, dear?” Emily persisted. “Perhaps last night or even today?”

Charlotte knew that Emily used the term of endearment in much the same way as she would have baited a fishing hook with a worm, to keep the poor young man in her thrall for as long as it was useful. She didn’t realise she was being cruel, of course—that was just her sister. The notion of falling in love was as strange an idea to Emily as walking on the moon might be—rather more so, in all probability.

“Oh.” Robert looked nonplussed. “Oh, no one of note. We had the Barraclough brother over, for Father wants another clock, and . . . I was not here last night, but I believe that Bradshaw from Top Withens Hall came to discuss a business matter. We are to invest in a concern he is developing.”

“I see,” Emily said, looking at Anne, whose eyes widened.

It was really most infuriating to Charlotte. Here were her sisters making what seemed to be momentous discoveries, while she had been obliged to sit here and listen to the endless list of reasons that Robert Heaton thought he’d be a very excellent husband, and not even to her.

“Yes, Bradshaw has a good track record with turning a profit, and so it seems we may be partners in his latest endeavour—”

“I say, Robert, old fellow,” Branwell interrupted his friend, looking rather disconsolately at his cup of tea. “As you Heatons are doing so marvellously, well, perhaps you and I could talk about a small loan between gentlemen? I have been too unwell to be sensibly employed for a while—poor Emily is quite beside herself with worry for me. And if you feed this brain, there is certain to be a return on your investment with my own good company.”

“Oh,” Robert said sweetly. “Well, of course, Branwell, anything for you . . .”

“Neither a borrower nor a lender be, our dear papa always says,” Charlotte said primly.

“Besides, we must take our leave,” Anne said. “We have a rather urgent matter to attend to.”

And before Charlotte could take another breath, Anne had dropped a curtsey and hurried out of the house with Emily in her wake.

“Well,” Charlotte said. “Please do forgive my sisters, Robert. They rather forget themselves.”

“It is allowable,” Robert said wistfully, watching Anne and Emily march past the front window, “especially when one is so unforgettable to others.”

—