Chapter 22 #2
Despite my every effort, I smiled back—careful and tentative—and then he was walking toward me.
I tried to think of what I might say to him, but then I looked at Clara, at the sadness in her eyes, and knew exactly what I needed to say.
James stopped just in front of me. Before he could speak, I opened my mouth. “I need your help.”
“Your servant awaits.” He smiled, and I had to look away. He looked far too handsome tonight.
“We must do something to bring them together,” I whispered. I nodded my head toward where Lord Trowbridge stood, then at Clara, who was standing with slack shoulders, engaged in a quiet conversation with Rachel. Her eyes darted across the room every few seconds without fail. “What can we do?”
James rubbed his jaw. “This is a dangerous game, Charlotte. You wish to play matchmaker with me as your assistant?”
“We must try, at least.”
He gave a slow nod. “I daresay we will make a dreadful team—especially with business of the heart.” His eyes were teasing, but his mouth was serious. Somehow it made him even more attractive.
I kept my focus on the business at hand.
I couldn’t allow him to unsettle me. “We are both partially to blame for their separation. You told your brother things that you knew would distance him from Clara, and I should never have told you the truth in the first place.” I cringed at the bitterness in my voice. “You will never forgive me for it.”
His eyes searched mine, and I found myself trapped in them. “I'm glad you told me what you did about your intentions.” He stepped forward and smiled in a flirtatious way. “Otherwise I might have fallen madly in love with you.”
His words hit me hard, and my heart quickened. “M-my intentions?”
“To marry a man with wealth and a title.”
Oh, yes. I had nearly forgotten. I searched his face despite the dangers of doing so, hoping to find clues of some kind.
His eyes were so difficult to read—teasing one moment and serious the next—hiding a misunderstanding of sorts.
I adjusted my gloves. “How fortunate then…that I told you the truth.”
James's jaw tightened as he looked down. “What shall we call this operation then?” he whispered.
I raised an eyebrow in confusion.
“Our matchmaking scheme.”
I tugged at my gloves another moment longer, trying to dispel the discomfort between us. “We must be discreet.” I gave a sideways smile. “Shall we call it…Lady Trowbridge?”
James rolled his eyes dramatically. “That is not discreet at all.”
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. “I don’t wish to ruin my sister's reputation. We shall call the plan 'Rosemary.' It is completely discreet, unrelated to love, and there is no significance to it.”
James leaned his head down, lowering his voice to a whisper. “But rosemary is one of the most significant scents in my opinion.”
“Why?”
“It never fails to remind me of you.”
My cheeks burned. I had a rosemary perfume from home that I used almost daily, but there were only a few drops left.
The idea that James had noticed my scent, had even named it, made my heart race.
“You must be mistaken. My perfume smells of lavender.” I quickly moved away before he could catch my scent again, trying not to enjoy the sound of his laugh that followed my reaction.
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 declaring her feelings to Thomas.
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 his estate.” 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.
James’s gaze focused on me, but I refused to look at him. The guilt would be too much. The late Lady Trowbridge had obtained the objective I had always dreamed of. Was I also capable of doing such a thing?
“What else can Clara do to convince him?” I asked in a quiet voice. “Is it hopeless?”
“She must try to tell him her feelings aloud,” James said.
I glanced over at Clara and knew it was impossible. “She's too timid. 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. “Charlotte! I am sorry to interrupt, but will you assist me for a moment? We need to usher the guests toward the music room for the performances.”
Mrs. Abbot caught James by the arm. “Mr. Wortham, would you favor us with a performance as well?”
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 loudly to compete with. “Yes! Please.” She turned to me with wide eyes.
I couldn’t possibly refuse, so I gave a hesitant nod.
Mrs. Abbot pressed a hand to her chest. “Now I am most eager to begin. Will you usher the north guests toward the music room?”
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, my heart racing with sudden nerves. “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 look.
“They will not.”
I scowled. “How do you know?”
He 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. Perhaps it didn’t matter if people knew the truth. In that moment it seemed that the only opinion that mattered was his. If James was the only person in the world who didn't despise me, it would be enough.
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.”
I helped usher my assigned guests, and when all the seats were full in the music room, people still stood around the outskirts of the room and in the corridor surrounding it.
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 James sat beside me. I watched as he positioned the same song we had played before in front of us. Quasi una fantasia. 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 then I played the first note.
James joined in at the perfect moment. Much like before, 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 had.
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. How could I go a day without seeing that? I didn't want to know the damage it would do to my heart.
I found my seat again, troubled and suddenly quite 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 feigning illness so I could return home, but then I remembered Clara.
I could not abandon her. Operation 'Rosemary' was still necessary, and I hated to admit it, but I needed James's help.
But there was still the Twelfth Night party…perhaps I could wait until then.
With my mind made up, I avoided James for the rest of the party.
I knew I couldn't speak to him again tonight—not when I was so confused and emotional. I remained pinned to Clara’s side, and to Miss Bentford’s, and to Rachel’s and Lucy’s.
It was long after midnight when we finally climbed back into the carriage.
Miss Bentford hummed a cheerful tune, swaying to it as we began our short journey.
“You will never believe what Mrs. Abbot said.” The moonlight glinted on her wide eyes.
“Lord Trowbridge offered to host the Twelfth Night ball. Is that not most unexpected? Mrs. Abbot says he hasn’t hosted anything in years. ”
I exchanged a glance with Clara in the dark.
“Unexpected, indeed,” I muttered. “Perhaps he was inspired by someone. He might wish to set a better example of hospitality to his daughter.”
“Perhaps.” Miss Bentford began pulling the pins from her hair. “Good heavens, does my head ache. But it was all quite worthwhile.” She smiled, turning her attention out the window. “What a delightful evening.”
Her contentment was endearing, though I was a little envious of it. I still worried over Clara and how she had felt about the party. My worries were confirmed when we returned to the cottage and she finally joined me in my room to discuss the events of the evening.
“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 up 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.”
Clara 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 said with a soft smile. “It is comforting 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 sat up straighter. “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. “You may choose to believe that. But I cannot.”
My tense shoulders relaxed slightly. “It’s only because the two of you don’t always agree. Mama and I have the same beliefs, goals, and opinions. I suppose that’s why we share a deeper bond.”
“But do you still share those things? I’m not certain that Mama’s beliefs are truly yours any longer. You can be happy without all the things you had before—and without all the advantages of a rich and titled match.” Clara’s eyes showed true concern, but I tried to ignore it.
“I—I don’t think so.” I took a deep breath. “It is all I have hoped for and dreamed of my entire life.”
“That was before you came here…before you learned all you have, met the people you did.” She gave me a knowing glance. “Before you met Mr. Wortham.”
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 started to leave the room, but I stopped her. “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 corridor.