“Of course.” I shared her smile, trying to absorb happiness from her, to somehow replace the confusion and emptiness I felt within myself.
I turned at a tap on my shoulder from behind where a young woman with black hair stood, extending the top hat to me. “Have you chosen a name yet?”
I shook my head as she held the hat closer to me. My hand was shaking and I hoped no one noticed. There were still several names inside the hat, but each was well concealed, folded in quarters and tucked in at the corners. I peered at the papers, trying to guess which paper would have James’s name written on it, so I could be sure not to choose him. It was impossible though, so I just reached in and grabbed the first one I saw.
I crumpled it in my fist, too afraid to read it, and looked at Clara.
She plucked a paper from the top of the pile inside the hat and raised an eyebrow, keeping hers concealed as well. “What name did you choose?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Shall we read them together?” Her cheeks were still flushed with joy and I felt a small pang of jealousy. I pushed it away. Clara’s worries were over with for the time. She was happy, free. I tried my best to feel the same.
My breath quickened as I fought with myself over wanting James’s name, desperately, to be written on that paper, and hoping I could somehow depart from this party—from this town—without ever seeing him again. I didn’t know which option would cause me more pain, but it was all so complicated it made my head spin.
All around me ladies were already reading their names, each face either squealing in delight or marred with a frown. “Very well, Clara. But no cheating.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She smiled. “On the count of three. One.”
“Two.”
“Three!”
I opened my hand and rubbed the paper between my fingers to flatten the creases before focusing on the name written on it. The ink had smudged on the first letter, but the rest was easy to read.
The Earl of Trowbridge
My eyes flew to Clara in shock. Her eyes lifted from her paper and she scowled at my expression.
“I have Lord Trowbridge,” I said, my voice hushed.
It was difficult to tell, but a wisp of a smile touched her lips. “You must switch names with me then. It is only fair. Please.”
I nodded, and after checking to be sure no rule-abiding woman would come snatch the papers from our grasp, I slipped my paper into Clara’s hand and she did the same with hers. A brief look of triumph settled on her face but it was peculiar, something hinting at mischief behind her eyes.
“I will meet you in the ballroom.” She slid out the door with the other young ladies. I frowned and my gaze drooped downward, toward the new paper I now held. It was folded twice, and I opened it in one swipe. No. My heart skittered and I covered the words again, holding the paper against me. I sneaked one more peek, hoping I had imagined it. But no, written in the softest, graceful hand of Rachel Abbot were fourteen letters, arranged to create the name I had most feared to see.
Mr. James Wortham
Chapter 21
“My drops of tears I’ll turn to sparks of fire.”
I cursed my sister under my breath. How could she knowingly put me in this situation? Even after all I had done to help her with Thomas? My gaze darted to the door, but she was long gone, and the trail of ladies I could see in the hallway through the open door were all laughing and smiling. My chest constricted with a sudden fear. I was afraid of the things James made me feel and how they were such a parallel to the things I had been taught were to be frowned upon.
Without thinking, I was moving toward the door and the hall of giggling young ladies. We had been told to meet our partners in the ballroom, where we would be given further instruction. I tried to stop myself, but I followed the line into the ballroom, and my eyes had to adjust to the dim light. It was warmer in here. My hands grew slick with sweat inside my gloves.
And then there he was, across the room, smiling that devilish smile, eyebrow cocked as he watched Clara find Lord Trowbridge and show him his name on the paper that used to be mine. Then James’s smile softened to one of relief as he watched them together and my breath caught. Oh, he was loved.
I feared I couldn’t do it. The slip of paper that bore his name was now an embarrassing ball in my hand. My fist was clenched so tight I felt the sting of my fingernails against my palm. All around me, the room was full of excitement and hearty laughter, faces drawn in shock over the good fortune—or misfortune—of their assigned partners. James was standing alone, and I made my decision, or rather, my feet made the decision for me. I was walking forward, more shy than I had ever been in my life. More afraid. More raw and vulnerable and confused. I watched the floor until I was a short distance away.
I stared at James’s boots until the blasted man lifted my face to look at his, nudging my chin up with a bent finger, half a smile on his lips and a question in his eyes. “How many pounds did you have to pay out to secure my name?” He was looking at the crumpled paper in my hand.
“Only a thousand.”
“I’d wager you planted a few facers too, as you fought madly over me, just to be sure you met success.”
“One of the women is nursing a nosebleed as we speak.” It was a wonder how these conversations came so easily, even when I really didn’t want to make him smile.
“As I suspected.”
“I did it for Clara,” I blurted. “I chose your brother’s name first, and she offered a trade, but that was before I knew it was your name she had picked.”
I expected him to grin, make another joke, but instead something in his expression seemed to fall. He smiled anyway. “Ah. Clever move on your part, of course, partnering your sister with my brother against all odds. Sacrificing your chance with a wealthy Lord in exchange for an evening with me that is to be endured.”
I peeked at his face and realized all traces of humor were gone. He looked hurt, and it tugged at my heartstrings. “James—I won’t apologize for having ambitions. But rest assured I have given up on pursuing your brother.” My voice was defensive, and I realized how terrible I sounded—how heartless.
He bristled, but after a moment, his face washed over with calmness and he rubbed his forehead. “I wish I could stay angry with you, Charlotte” he repeated. “It would make everything much less … complicated.”
I didn’t have a chance to ask what he meant before Mrs. Abbot was calling for our attention, her husband at her side. “I welcome you all once again to our annual town twelfth night celebration. I see you have all found your partners.” A mumble of approval rolled through the room. “As the most anticipated event of the evening, we will begin, as always, with a waltz.”
My stomach was very near depositing its contents all over the slick marble floors. Mrs. Abbot signaled the musicians and I knew the song would begin soon. Blood rushed past my ears and heat tingled my face. I didn’t move, scowling in Mrs. Abbot’s direction, begging her to change tradition.
“Come now, Charlotte. The other guests will worry.”
I turned my scowl back to James. His face was careful, tentative, as he reached slow and unwavering for my hand. “I am the only one who knows what that frown of yours really means.” His other hand wrapped around my waist, gentle at first, then more pressing, pulling me closer to him as the music began.
My breath was lodged in my throat, and I found my gaze trapped on the creases his smile marked beside his eyes, the dimples in his cheeks, and the points of his lashes when his eyes were narrowed down at me so closely.
“And what does it mean?” I found it difficult to frown when his smile told me how much he enjoyed the sight.
“It means you adore me, remember?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“You don’t remember, or you don’t adore me?”
“Both.”
Although he was smiling, he looked far from laughter, and I knew why. This topic of conversatio
n was much less humorous than it once had been. We turned to the song, and I found that I didn’t think once of the steps, the poise I had practiced for hours with my instructor, or the ridicule from Mama as she watched me and told me my back was not straight enough.
I could think only of James, the warm strength of his hand, the way he didn’t care that my deformed hand lay in his, and how his eyes bore into mine, searching for answers that I didn’t have or dare to discover.
“Perhaps if I inquire of your feelings for me often enough, one day you’ll give me the answer I want to hear.” His voice was quiet. I might have imagined it, but his hand at my waist pressed me closer.
This wasn’t fair. How could I remain so close to him, knowing nothing for certain, a prisoner of a heart that didn’t even belong to me anymore. The longer I looked at his face, the more I wondered how long my heart had been his, and how he had managed to manipulate it without my permission.
“I can’t.”
His smile was gone, a broken look replacing it, one that made me ache to see. “You can’t, or you won’t?”
I thought of my hopes and dreams. Of Mama’s approval and society’s praise, and my jaw set firm against the tears behind my eyes and I said, “Both.”
He was silent then, and it was James that looked away from me, with him keeping his secrets and me keeping mine. The dance wasn’t over, so still we turned to the haunting music, and it was all I could do not to beg his forgiveness and tell him the truth.
So we danced, a handsome young man scarred by love, and a pathetic young lady who didn’t want anything to do with it.
z
“Was that really necessary?”
Clara had her hand planted on her hip when she walked through our door a little after midnight. I was still slumped on the sofa, unblinking and quiet.
“You would pretend to be ill just to be driven home early. Just to escape Mr. Wortham?” Her gaze didn’t waver.
“Yes,” I croaked.
She walked over and pushed my legs off the sofa so she could sit beside me. “You are such a hypocrite.”
Her bluntness surprised me.
“How do you put forth so much effort to ensure my happiness but do nothing for the sake of your own? You have been an advocate of love these last weeks, Charlotte, yet you deny yourself any part of it. Why?”
I didn’t feel like speaking. I hardly felt like doing anything but squeezing my eyes shut and falling asleep, if only to stop the tears. But as soon as I shut my eyes against Clara, my throat tightened in a knot and tears fell from the corners of my eyes anyway. I breathed a shaky breath and stayed silent.
I sensed Clara’s disposition change, and her voice fell to a gentle apology. “You could have such a joyful life here. It really is beautiful if you look hard enough. The people are so lovely and kind, and the Abbots have treated us so well. I will be here, I hope. I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I will likely be living just down the road. There is no place else for you to go. So choose to be happy here because that is the only option. And you and James … Charlotte, you must know that you are loved. I love you, the Abbots love you, he loves you.”
My eyes snapped open. “He doesn’t love me.” I stood, swaying on my feet at the sudden movement.
“Charlotte—”
“No.” I put my hand up to stop her words and walked toward the stairs. She didn’t follow me.
Still wearing my red gown and satin gloves, I almost tripped up the narrow stairs and my hand slipped on the railing. When I reached the top I turned toward my room. All I was aware of was my breathing, the hitched sound as I fought against the onslaught of emotion that roiled through me. I pushed through the door and to my desk. After pulling my gloves off, I pressed my palms against it and leaned forward, trying to calm myself and discover why I was feeling the way I was.
What if Clara was right? What if I could be happy? I looked up at my reflection in the mirror above the desk. My eyes were rimmed in red and my lips were pressed tight. What if I was forced to stay here forever? The thought struck me with fear. How could I be comfortable knowing all the things I was missing, and all the things I could never have again? I refused to settle, to not achieve what eighteen years of instructing had intended me to achieve. I replaced the bars around my heart stronger, more unwavering than before.
But then I looked at the round knob of the drawer of my writing desk, and my heart softened all over again. I was too curious now.
I pulled the drawer open and withdrew James’s love letter with a shaking hand. I held it like it was a fragile, infinitely precious thing as I unfolded it. I realized as my eyes first met the parchment, that I had never really seen James’s writing before, and every line, curve, and shape seemed to suit him flawlessly.
I made one more attempt to stop myself from reading it, but I was too weak, and every piece of me longed for something that belonged to him, for some piece of his heart to hold. I swallowed hard and let my eyes lap over the page, reading the words that weren’t mine.
My love,
I wish I had the courage to speak these things aloud to you, but I don’t. You have stolen my heart, and your friendship has been a balm for my aching heart these last months, and I wish to dearly thank you. You will forever be in my heart, and although you find me lacking, I can’t bear the thought of being without you. Even if you cannot find it within you to return my love, then please return to me. Let me see your face again. I will be waiting, always, for you.
James
I ached everywhere, and pain burned through me for James’s sake, for his broken heart. I clutched my throat, where a tight ball had formed, and tears streamed down my cheeks. It wasn’t fair. None of it. It wasn’t fair that this woman had been so cruel and it wasn’t fair that James had been so hurt. Guilt clouded my eyes. I read the words again and again, until it was too much to bear.
And then I tore it in half. Squinting through angry tears, as well as my poorly functioning hand would allow, I tore it in half again and again, until it was a pile of disjointed words on the desk. When I was finished I stared at the shreds with wide eyes, dazed and shocked, and then I put my arm down on the table and lay my head in the bend of my elbow. I was shaking.
I tried to puzzle out why it had affected me so much. It could have been because I cared about James, and I didn’t want him to be hurt, or it could have been because it was so hard to believe that James had loved like that, and how real he had made it seem. And maybe because somewhere deep inside, I wished every word had been for me.
I stood from the chair, legs shaking, and plodded in a daze to my bed. My brain was tired of thinking and my heart was tired of feeling. As I faded off to sleep, I imagined a life where I stayed in the North forever, and where I smiled on the worst of days, all because James held my hand. It was ridiculous, and I tried to stop imagining it, but again, I was too tired.
Chapter 22
“Let me be that I am and seek not to alter me.”
When Clara returned home the following day, her smile was so wide I worried her face would become frozen that way. Lord Trowbridge had offered for her, and she had accepted, of course.
I was happy for her, and it took all my energy to cling to her excitement and joy when I found it impossible to find my own. Clara’s cheeks were touched pink, and she looked simply radiant. I smiled as she relayed to me every detail.
“We are to be married in two months’ time,” she said. “That will allow plenty of time for his aunts to travel here to help with the preparations. Did you know he has six aunts? I hear they are all delightful …”
She carried on with the details of her day while we sat together on the sofa. It was strange, the joy I felt at seeing her now. The way her dreams had all come true, and I couldn’t help but compare them to my own. A sinking feeling mingled with the happiness I felt for her as I realized how hopeless the possibility was of me ever accomplishing my goals and returning to the life I had before. My head ached from the events of the
previous day, and I found myself easily distracted.
I shook myself and cleared my throat to speak. “Mama will be pleased to hear it.”
Clara froze. “I’m not telling Mama.”
“Why? You must! Don’t be ridiculous.”
She looked down at her lap, wringing her hands together. “Well … I—I just don’t want to tell her. Please don’t say a word.”
I scowled. “There must be a reason.”
Clara was suddenly defensive. “She will claim responsibility for the match. She will reap the benefits of our living and … after how she has treated me, treated us, our entire lives … I don’t believe she deserves it.” Her voice carried a hint of bitterness that surprised me. She recognized the harshness of her words and tried to recover, eyes wide. “I would just prefer that her opinion of me not be based upon the advantage of my marriage. Does that make sense?”
I thought about what she said, a warning that I didn’t recognize flashing in my head. “But she will still expect that I marry him, and I can’t continue lying to her.”
“Then don’t.” Clara’s eyes bore into mine. “Tell her you do not wish to marry for advantage.”
“But I do!” My voice was rising now.
“Whose advantage, Charlotte?”
Her words rang in my ears. “What?”
“Whose advantage would you marry for? Because not allowing yourself to love, clinging to these ridiculous ideas of a happy life … it’s ruining you. Tell Mama the truth and don’t let her stop you. Make new dreams for yourself, set new goals, let go of the things you left behind because they have certainly let you go. Please, I beg of you, don’t become the person you once were.”
I felt defeated, and a thousand questions rolled through my head at once. “Do I have a choice?” My voice sounded hollow.
She smiled, a soft shift of her lips and a gentleness in her eyes. “Make the most of your life here. Find James and tell him how you feel. You helped me and now it is my turn. If I must be a meddlesome scoundrel, I will.”
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