I put a hand on my hip. “Your ideas?”
“There is plenty of greenery to draw inspiration from … holly, bay, laurel …”
“Mistletoe?” I suggested, “That’s romantic.”
He smiled with mischief. “Only if you plan to use it. If we could somehow drive them both toward the servant’s wing, there is plenty of mistletoe there.”
I laughed, and he joined me. “I don’t wish to ruin my sister’s reputation! We shall call the plan ‘Rosemary.’ It is completely unrelated to love and there is no significance to it.”
He leaned his head down, lowering his voice to a whisper. “But rosemary is one of the most significant scents in my opinion.”
I scoffed. “How so?”
“It never fails to remind me of you.” He winked and my cheeks burned.
“I smell of rosemary?” I tried to smile.
“The very best kind.”
I rolled my eyes at him and stepped away, trying not to enjoy the sound of his laugh that followed. I recovered my thoughts and cooled my cheeks. “Before we begin, you must know the rest of the story. Several nights ago, Clara wrote a letter to Thomas, telling him how she felt. We slipped it through his door, and he has not acknowledged it at all. I worry he didn’t receive it, but I don’t see how that can be possible.”
James listened carefully, then paused before speaking. “It may not have been enough.” He scowled. “He has been hurt before; it may be difficult for him to believe someone could love him. His wife never did.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“His late wife married him for the sole purpose of obtaining a title and a large sum of pin money.” His voice was bitter. “She never loved him, but he loved her more than anything. I fear he has never recovered.”
A thread of guilt stitched through me, and I crossed my arms to contain it. “How awful,” I mumbled.
His gaze focused on me, but I refused to look at him because I knew the guilt would be too much. That woman was just like me, carving yet another broken heart in her path. Was I capable of doing such a thing?
“What else can Clara do?” I asked in a quiet voice.
“The only thing left for her to do—she must tell him her feelings aloud,” James said.
I glanced over at Clara and knew it was impossible. “She’s too timid,” I said. “Just delivering the letter nearly made her ill. We cannot ask such a thing of her.”
James seemed to consider this, darting his gaze between the two of them, thinking. Before he could speak again, I saw Mrs. Abbot rushing toward us, face still shining with excitement. “Charlotte! I am sorry to interrupt, but will you assist me for a moment? We need to gather the guests around the music room to hear the performances.”
James started to step away, but Mrs. Abbot caught him by the arm. “Mr. Wortham, will you please treat us to a piece on the pianoforte?”
I had only seen it once or twice before, but his confidence faltered. Then his eyes met mine and he smiled. “Only if Miss Lyons will accompany me.”
My breath caught and I tried to protest, but Mrs. Abbot gasped too loud to compete with. “Yes! Please, if you will. Do you sing?” She turned to me with wide eyes.
James answered for me. “Your guests will not be disappointed, believe me. But the method of our performance must remain a surprise.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “Now I am very anxious to begin.” She smiled and kissed my cheek. “I am taking this quarter of the room, and my daughters will help with the west and south sides. Will you usher the north guests to the music rooms?”
I smiled despite how nervous I felt. “Gladly.”
With another smile and squeeze of my arm, she left, leaving me alone with James again. I gave him a hard look. “Why did you say that? Now everyone will know of my injury.”
His look was a gentle reprimand. “I told you not to be ashamed.”
“I would still prefer that the entire town not suspect there is something amiss. If they discover the truth … they will despise me for it.” I took a deep, shaking breath, and a tear slipped from my eye. James reached for my hand with a reassuring smile.
“They will not.”
I scowled. “How do you know?”
He chuckled and swiped away my stray tear with his thumb. My heart pounded, and I tried to ignore it, but I was too aware of James’s closeness and comfort and safety. “Because it is fairly impossible to despise you. Most of the time.”
I couldn’t stop my smile, feeling thoroughly ridiculous for being so afraid. Did it even matter? In that moment it seemed that the only opinion of me that mattered was his. If he was the only person in the world that didn’t despise me, it would be enough. My heart beat fast with the lies I had been telling it, the secrets I had been keeping.
I pulled away from James, wiping away my own tears and taking a deep breath. “I will meet you in the music room then. But first I must see to the guests.”
When all the seats were full, people still stood around the outskirts of the room and in the hall surrounding it. Even Lord Trowbridge’s home couldn’t entirely accommodate such a large group of people. I wiped the sweat off the palm of my hand—the hand that would play the keys beside James. Mrs. Abbot had added us to the program, the last performance of the night. I wished I could sit back and enjoy the music, but my stomach fluttered too violently.
My eyes met James’s across the room, and he smiled, trying to reassure me. But he looked nervous too. That made me feel better. I sat back, trying to breath normally. After an eternity, the song preceding ours ended. A young boy had played the fiddle while his sister sang, and I waited to compliment them before standing. I left one of my gloves on the seat of my chair when I stood, knowing how strange it must have looked to still wear a glove on one hand.
I sat down on the bench first, and thankfully it was longer than the one in the Abbots’ home. James sat beside me, and I watched as he positioned the same music we had played before in front of us. I put my hand over the keys, but it shook. I focused my gaze on the music, and glanced at James once before I began. He nodded, I breathed, and I played the first note.
James joined in at the perfect moment, and I lost myself in the music, the beautiful stillness of it, the precise and flawless way it fit inside my heart. I forgot the spectators and any judgments they may have against me.
When the song ended and the room burst into applause, I stayed sitting at the bench a moment longer before turning around. James gave me a smile, a lopsided tip of his mouth and a warmness of his eyes that cheered and unsettled me at the same time. How could I go a day without seeing that? I didn’t want to know the damage it would do to my already mangled heart.
I found my seat again, troubled and suddenly anxious to leave. I hadn’t forgotten my rules, I had disregarded them. Staying away from James was the only way to reverse this change within me, to keep my feelings hidden and to remember my goals. It needed to stop. I considered not coming back, staying home alone for the twelfth night party, but then I remembered Clara. I could not abandon her. Project ‘Rosemary’ was still necessary, and I hated to admit it, but I needed James’s help.
For the rest of the Christmas Eve party, I avoided him, accepting the compliments of other guests and promising to send the same to James, although I knew I couldn’t speak to him again tonight—not when I was so confused and emotional. I rubbed my eyes, eager to return home.
It was long after midnight when Clara and I finally climbed in the carriage and drove back to our cottage.
“Thomas didn’t speak a word to me tonight,” she said as she sat down on my bed, running a comb through her hair.
I yawned, pulling my blankets around me. Hope was waning, and I struggled to hold on to it. “James is going to help. If nothing changes by twelfth night, we will fix everything at the party. Not to worry.” She just stared at me, not saying a word. Sorrow was heavy in her eyes and I hated to see it. I wondered if she could see the same in mine.
“How you have changed, Charlotte.” Clara smiled, a subtle, reassuring lifting of her lips that buoyed my spirits. “It is wonderful to know that, for the first time in my life, someone cares for me.”
I frowned. “Mama cared for you. She still does.”
She shook her head. “I have been forced to believe that all Mama cares for is herself. I wish it wasn’t true, but anything else is a lie.”
“I know she cares for me. She wants only the best for me. She always has.” My voice was growing shrill with a hint of uncertainty.
Clara sighed, tugging on the last knot in her hair. “If you choose to believe that, fine. But I cannot.”
I was tense, and relaxed after her words. “It is only because the two of you do not always agree.” I said. “Mama and I have the same beliefs, the same goals and opinions, so I suppose that is just why we get along better than the two of you.”
“But do you still? You have changed and I’m not certain Mama’s beliefs are truly yours any longer. You can be happy without all the things you had before, without all the pride and advantage of a calculated match.” Clara’s eyes showed true concern, but I tried to ignore it, choosing also not to listen to her.
“I—I cannot. It is all I have hoped for and dreamed of my entire life.” My own voice seemed to be coming from a place that was much weaker than before—much more uncertain.
“That was before you came here … before you learned all you have, met the people you did. Before you met Mr. Wortham.” She gave me a knowing glance.
I froze, feeling suddenly defensive and angry. “Don’t suggest that he will keep me here, Clara. The very moment I have an opportunity to leave this place, I will. I’ll forget everything about this town. I will not miss it. I won’t.” Even as I spoke the words I wasn’t sure I believed them.
Clara sighed, long and slow. “The day you admit you love something, anything, anyone … I will probably faint out of disbelief.” She gave a brief smile, then moved toward the door.
I stopped her, and sat down on my bed, head spinning with the memory of spinning lights from the party. “I wish I understood how you love so easily,” I said in a quick voice.
She turned, halfway out of the doorway. “It is only difficult if you make it so.” She smiled again and faded into the dark hallway.
I waited until I heard her door shut and saw the flicker of candlelight on the walls swallowed by the darkness. Exhausted and utterly confused, I fell back on my pillow. I did not want to think about anything right now, not Clara’s words of advice, not Mama’s expectations, not my own, and certainly not James’s smile.
So I just fell asleep with an overflowing mind and a dry heart, trying to decide what was right and what was wrong—what was truth and what were lies.
Chapter 20
“I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say ‘I love you.’”
Twelfth night came on a Wednesday, and snow was falling. The days had been filled with an abundance of silk ribbons and golden papers, fresh greenery, and the decorating of masks—and my determined avoidance of James. I found that my head was clearer in his absence, but there was a deep well in my chest when I thought of him—which was more often than I liked.
To make tonight’s twelfth night party entertaining, Mrs. Abbot, Rachel, Lucy, and I had created dozens of masks for the masquerade dance. They were also used for performances, so I finished painting the upturned lips and exaggerated eyes of one of our eccentric masks. I was proud that it turned out especially unique due to my limited use of my right hand. I held it up in front of my face and sneaked behind Lucy.
“Charlotte!” She gasped, clutching her chest. “That is truly dreadful.” She laughed, holding up her own mask, a neat painting of pursed lips and triangular eyes.
“Horrifying,” I said through a laugh.
I sat back and started on another, leaning my elbow on the windowpane beside me. We were almost finished, and soon I would return home to prepare myself for the party. I had spent little time thinking about how to help Clara and Lord Trowbridge. I felt terrible for being so selfish, but most of my worry had been directed at seeing James again, and how I could manage to avoid him. As far as I knew though, nothing had changed for my sister—Lord Trowbridge still seemed indifferent toward her, although I knew it wasn’t true. There must have been a way to bring them together. I just needed to find it. But the letter was still a mystery to me. How could he have missed it? I bit my lip, struggling to understand so many things that seemed impossible.
“How is your hand healing?”
The question came from Rachel, breaking me from my thoughts. I cleared my throat. “Very well.”
She eyed my glove. “You don’t need to keep it covered around us. I assure you, we will not judge you for the sight of it.”
I smiled. “That is very kind of you, but I am … more comfortable this way.” I shifted in my chair.
“Quite well, I was just curious, that is all.” She gave a soft smile and set to work again on her mask. “Who do you hope to choose as your partner tonight?” Her voice turned giddy.
My brow furrowed. “What?”
Mrs. Abbot looked up from her work, surprise crossing her face. “You have not heard of the tradition?”
I shook my head no.
“It is the very best part of the evening. Just before the dance, each lady draws a slip of paper from a hat with the name of a gentleman written on it. In the ballroom, she may look at the paper and find the gentleman there who will be her partner for the rest of the party.”
Lucy grinned wickedly. “Last year I picked the name of the most handsome man …”
Her words quickly faded into the background of my thoughts. I could not pick James. Avoiding him had seemed possible, but if that happened it would be much more difficult. I quickly calmed my worries, reminding myself of how unlikely it would be for me to draw his name from so many. I relaxed, taking a breath to steady my nerves.
“So … who do you hope to pick then?” Rachel was looking at me again.
I shrugged, trying to appear more calm than I felt. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Of course it does!” She gave a sly grin to rival her sister’s. “You hope to be partnered with Mr. Wortham.”
My heart jumped. “I do not.”
“You do! Oh, would that not be perfect?” She turned toward Mrs. Abbot. “We have spoken about how perfectly matched the two of you would be.” She smiled at me. “And I can tell he is absolutely smitten by you.”
Why did everyone keep saying that? “I can assure you he is not.” I stood from my chair, eager to leave all these searching gazes that knew far too much about me. “I will leave now, but I’ll be sure to return early for the rest of the preparations.” I gave a shaky smile before turning toward the door and walking as fast as I could outside.
My heart quickened with every step, growing more and more nervous about this evening and what it could entail. I had too many questions—my heart was concealing too much from me, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to discover the truth it had to tell. Lies often served as a convenient barrier, a shield from the pain and complications truth always brought with it.
It was growing late, and I only had a few hours before the party would begin. When I stepped through the door of our cottage, I stopped. Clara was sitting on the sofa, wiping hasty tears from her cheeks. I hurried over and wrapped my arm around her, pulling her head to my shoulder. “What is the matter?”
She sniffled, and I felt something wet fall to my arm. “I—I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to go to the party. I don’t w-want to see Thomas ever again.”
I patted her back, releasing a long breath. “I don’t want to go either.” My voice was nearly a whisper. Silence fell in the air, broken only by her irregular sniffling and the whimpers she tried to conceal. “But we must go,” I said finally. “Try your very hardest to dry your tears, and we will go to the party.”
She didn’t seem to listen
, but closed her eyes. “Perhaps you were right to want to leave this place. It would be much easier to live without Thomas if I wasn’t forced to see him every day and if the reason he didn’t love me was because I moved far away and he forgot about me.”
I sighed. “Don’t give up just yet, Clara. Something is bound to change tonight, I just know it.”
She looked up at me, a puffy-eyed mess of tears. “But why don’t you want to go to the party?”
I searched my mind for something to say, a way to skirt around the truth, but found nothing. “Because … I don’t want to see James ever again.”
She snorted, a strange noise that I couldn’t tell if it was a result of crying or laughter. “I knew you loved him.”
I sat back against the cushions, defeated and too exhausted to argue. I rubbed my head, trying to somehow push away all the thoughts that battled for my attention. Clara sat up straight and huffed a heavy breath. “But you are right. We must go to the party, and we will have a wonderful time.”
“Yes.” I sat up and looked her straight in the eyes. “We will both look more beautiful than ever, and we will not allow two silly men to destroy the happiness of our first twelfth night party.”
She laughed. “Are you sure they are the silly ones? Look at us.”
I smiled, pulling her into a quick embrace. “If Lord Trowbridge doesn’t see what is right in front of him, then he is the silliest one for certain.”
She took a deep breath and smiled. The sight warmed my heart and calmed my nerves. We hurried up the stairs to get ready for the party. It was beginning to feel like an obligation, but despite my misgivings, it would probably be an enjoyable evening. I had plenty to keep my mind occupied while I was there, but I would choose to just relax and have a wonderful time. Everything would be all right.
I stood in front of the mirror in my room and smiled. Before Clara came in to help me with my hair, I found my old list in the drawer of my writing desk. I unfolded the list and reviewed all my rules, running them through my mind like a tedious thread. Never let him see how he affects you. Never admire the color of his eyes. Never look at his face for more than two seconds. Never let him make you blush. Never think about kissing him. Never spend time alone with him.
Lies and Letters Page 20