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Charlotte took the stairs quickly up to Coe House, giving a cursory glance to the footmen and maids who lined the stairs. Behind her, Brimsley followed closer than the custom five-paces. Typically, she would scold him. She didn’t enjoy being trailed, and he had been with her long enough to know that, but he also knew when she needed added strength. Although she would never admit it, tonight was one of these nights.
They had received the call unexpectedly. King George’s condition had taken a turn for the worse. He had been declining for some time, but Charlotte had still been shaken by the call. She had been expecting her husband’s death for years but somehow, faced with it, she was completely unprepared.
“You need not follow me any further,” Charlotte told Brimsley.
“Are you sure, Your Majesty?”
“Do I seem like I am not sure?” She snapped. Brimsley responded with a deferential nod of his head, but she could see the worry on his face. Softening her voice, she said, “I will be fine, Brimsley.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
She turned on her heel and made the journey up to George’s bedroom. Coe House was full of memories, but in recent, there was nothing but dread. She rarely called unless George took ill, long ago accepting that he had succumbed to the heavens. Her presence only upset him.
The physician stood outside of the room, seemingly waiting for her. He stepped forward when she approached, his face holding the sort of impassivity that always irritated her. She liked being able to read people’s expressions.
“How is he?” She asked.
“He is asleep now. But, he has been asking for you.”
“He has?” Charlotte asked, her breath catching. He hadn’t asked for her in years. “I would like to see him now.”
“He is resting.”
Charlotte set him with a look, straightening herself to her full height. “I said I would like to see my husband. Please move aside, or I will call someone to move you.”
Chagrined, the physician stepped aside and Charlotte stepped inside George’s bedroom, closing the door behind her. The room smelled of sickness and she longed to open the windows, but she knew they had been locked shut since they were first married.
They had shared many memories in this room and she was flooded with thoughts of days past as she walked over to the side of the bed, sitting next to George. He was asleep, his eyes moving beneath his eyelids. He must be dreaming, she thought. But, what of? Her, perhaps? Or was he dreaming of Venus, the stars weaving a tapestry across his mind?
“Oh George,” she sighed, smoothing his hair away from his face. She did not love him any less than forty years earlier, when he had first touched her heart. In many ways, it was a curse. Life would have been easier if she could have forgotten him. If she could have given up on him. But she couldn’t, because there were moments that gave her hope, as slim as it was. They were sparse in the later years, but every so often, her George returned. He came back to her, and so even when the stars overtook him, and when he yelled and barricaded himself behind tables at her presence, she could not give up. She would not.
He stirred in his sleep and she placed her hand on his chest. “Shhh, go back to sleep. Go back to sleep, my love.”
“Charlotte?”
His eyes fluttered open and she could tell immediately that these were one of those moments. He was himself again, and while her heart sang, it also broke. Would this be the last time he returned to her?
“Charlotte, you’re here.”
“Of course, I am here. Where else would I be?”
He took a hold of her hand and held it tightly against his chest. She could feel the labored work of his breath beneath her hand.
“How long have I been gone?” He asked.
She knew what he meant, but was surprised by the question nonetheless. Before, whenever he would have an episode, when he came to he would ask her how long it lasted. He hadn’t been lucid enough in years to ask.
She chose her words carefully, and said, “It has been a while.”
Tears filled his eyes. “I’m sorry, Lottie.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Charlotte said fiercely, holding his face in her hands. “You are here now. That is what matters.”
“What did I ever do to deserve you?”
“Well, I believe you became the king of a country that my brother wished to strike an alliance with.”
George laughed, but the laugh quickly turned into a hacking cough. There was a glass of water on his nightstand, and Charlotte quickly grabbed it and held it to his lips. He took a sip and when his cough subsided, he leaned back into the pillows.
“The best alliance Great Britain ever made,” he said.
“I’d have to agree with that.”
“Tell me about our family,” George asked.
“The children are doing well,” Charlotte told him.
“And our grandchildren?”
“We are up to five now,” she said. The last they had spoken, they were only expecting their first. “We had our first boy last year. Named George, naturally.”
“George the Fifth?” He asked with a weak smile. “How splendid.”
“I thought you would enjoy that.”
He went to speak, but was overcome by another racking cough. Charlotte tried to give him the water again, but he swatted her hand away. When he the cough settled, she said, “You shouldn’t talk any more.”
He nodded, closing his eyes shut. When they opened again, he stared at her, and for a moment she thought he was gone to the stars again. But then he took her hand and tugged her toward the bed. She laid beside him, lying on her side to face him. When they were younger, they had spent many nights this way, talking well into the early morning hours. Looking into his eyes, she could see him that way again. His white hair dark again, the lines on his face softened.
“I’ve missed you, George.”
“I’m sorry that I have not been here. You deserved a husband who could be.”
“I made my choice and I would make it time and time again,” She inched closer, pressing her forehead against his. “It is you and me. Always.”
“You and me,” he echoed.
The next morning, Charlotte left Coe Hall, Brimsley walking three-paces behind her. Three days later, she received the news that King George passed away. While many around her shed tears, for Charlotte, she felt relief. George was finally free of his illness. He was at peace.
That evening, she went to the observatory and situated herself in front of one of George’s old telescopes. She hadn’t used one for years, the stars really having been more of George’s interest than her own. It felt right, though, and so she set up the telescope as George taught her, adjusting the scope just right. She looked into the scope, the stars spread out before her. She could read the usual constellations, and then something caught her eye. It was a bright star, larger than those in the constellations, but smaller than a planet. As she looked at it, the star almost seemed to brighten. Charlotte’s chest tightened.
Ready to turn in for the night, Charlotte took one last look at the star and murmured, “Goodnight, my love.”