Chapter 23 #3
“Sophia is bringing the letter back to me. You can tell him how you feel, or you can give him the letter. He needs to know the truth. Tonight.”
She exhaled, slow and shaky. “But—there are so many people. Rejection with an audience is far worse.”
“He won't reject you!”
I followed her gaze across the room to where Lord Trowbridge stood beside James. I was distracted for a few seconds, but returned my attention to Clara again just in time to see her eyes fly open wide. “No,” she breathed.
“What?”
Her hand clutched my arm. “No. No. No.”
“What is it?” My gaze shot across the room again, and I gasped. Sophia had already returned, and she stood beside her father. In her hand was a folded sheet of paper.
I moved a step forward but knew it was too late. Lord Trowbridge looked down at her with confusion, taking the letter tentatively. Her lips moved, and then she raised a tiny finger and pointed in our direction.
My eyes flickered to James. He was watching me, one eyebrow raised in question. I froze, and so did Clara. My arm was numb from her grip by the time Lord Trowbridge unfolded the letter and his eyes scanned the words Clara had written.
The moment he looked up, Clara released my arm and rushed out the door behind us. I considered following her, but realized Lord Trowbridge already intended to, pushing past groups of guests, carried by long strides toward the same exit she had taken.
I pushed back a squeal of triumph, and found my gaze drifting across the room to James. Instinctively, I looked away, but checked the clock. It had been one hour. There was no way to avoid him now.
When I looked at him again, he was already walking toward me, a baffled expression on his face. I met him in the middle of the room, near the same place we had met earlier. I cursed my heart for beating so loudly.
“As your accomplice, I feel as though I should've been informed of that tactic,” James said, smiling, a look of awe on his face. “Care to enlighten me?”
I relayed the details of my conversation with Sophia, and he chuckled.
“A stroke of genius on her part. Perhaps you should've always consulted her before me.”
I shrugged. “A young child has bested us. She understood what we did not, I suppose.”
“Love must be much simpler than either of us suspect.” He was smiling, but there was something hidden in his eyes.
“I wish it was.” The words came without my permission.
James looked down at me, and I didn’t look away this time. I wished it was all easier. I wished a future in the South living in a grand home and making my mother proud wasn't such a contradiction to this man. It stung, deep inside, and I begged my mind to forget him. I wished that was easier too.
It was only a few seconds later when Lucy appeared beside me. I tore my eyes away from James with effort and tried my hardest to smile.
“All the ladies are to meet in the drawing room immediately. We are picking names,” Lucy said.
I nodded, allowing her to pull me with her by the arm. I glanced at James one more time, but he was looking down, scuffing his boot across the marble floor, arms crossed.
Once we reached the drawing room, the giggling I had heard from a distance before was now a full roar, echoing in high trills as a top hat filled with small slips of paper was passed from lady to lady.
I searched the room for Clara and found her standing beside Rachel, eyes scanning the room.
As soon as she saw me, her face broke into a smile. Relief flooded through me.
She rushed to my side and pulled me away from the crowd of ladies. “He loves me, Charlotte!” she whispered. “You were right. You were right! And—and he said he was wrong to be so aloof, and that he was sorry. And…” Her cheeks turned pink. “He kissed me.”
I couldn’t stop my grin. “I am not surprised.”
She took my hand, and I noticed in her eyes a brightness that had been missing for a long time. “Thank you. If you had not intervened, I would still be grim and Thomas would still be entirely blind. You are the world’s most amazing sister.”
“We both know that is not true.” I rolled my eyes half-heartedly. “You owe your gratitude to little Sophia. Your future step-daughter?” I raised an eyebrow in question.
“He didn’t propose yet, but we were interrupted.” Her cheeks were still flushed and her smile could not have been wider. “Do you think he will?”
“Of course he will!” 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. Mrs. Abbot stood with the top hat filled with names. “Have you chosen one yet?”
I shook my head as she held the hat closer to me.
My hand was shaking. I hoped no one noticed.
There were still several names inside the hat, but each was well concealed, folded in quarters.
I peered at the papers, trying to guess which one 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 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 to be written on that paper, but also hoping I could never see 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 us, ladies were already reading their names. Clara smiled. “On the count of three. One.”
“Two.”
“Three!”
I unfolded the paper quickly. 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 toward the new paper I now held.
It was folded again, so 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.
Mr. James Wortham