Chapter 24
“Even the finest sword plunged into salt water will eventually rust.”
Everything that followed the announcement came in disorienting flashes—Father raising a glass of champagne for a toast, Lord Cranford nodding stiffly to well-wishers, Mrs. Sweete intercepting excited mamas… and Sybella appearing in front of me, a satisfied smirk spread beneath her siren mask.
“Congratulations, Hel.” Sybella leaned in, the sickly sweet smell of rose-scented perfume catching in my throat. “Looks like there will be two weddings in the near future.” I stared at her as she sauntered away, clearly pleased with herself.
I had enough of this foolish swooning. Drawing in a breath, I forced myself to regain what little composure I still had. I would face this like a battleship against the squall, battered but upright.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said to the mamas who were breaking through Mrs. Sweete’s frontlines.
The baron looked at me with concern as I pushed past him.
He didn’t follow me, thank goodness. Father didn’t even notice Mrs. Sweete and me leaving.
He was too caught up with being congratulated by the gentleman from his club.
“Where are we going?” Mrs. Sweete whispered as I pushed through the crowd.
“I need to find Edmond.”
She struggled to keep up with my pace. “But you just got engaged. If you’re seen seeking out another man, your reputation—”
“I don’t care about my reputation. I need to talk to Edmond.”
Her eyebrows shot up. To be fair, I was surprised myself. Never in a thousand years would I have pictured myself saying such a reckless thing. But, in truth, I wasn’t feeling like myself. I was feeling quite unlike myself. Which is exactly why I needed to find Edmond. Immediately.
Mrs. Sweete followed as I stormed down the hallway that Edmond had disappeared into. I checked behind each door, my pulse rising higher in my throat with every empty room.
I turned the last corner, and there was Edmond, his back to me as he opened a door to the outside gardens. Relief washed over me.
“Edmond!” I cried. His hand stilled on the door’s handle. “Edmond, please. Can we talk?”
“About what?” he said sharply, not bothering to turn around. “There is nothing you and I have to speak about now.”
His words cut into me, and I exchanged a pained look with Mrs. Sweete. She nodded and walked back down the hall to stand guard.
I took a step closer to Edmond. “That wasn’t what you think it was.”
He stiffened. “So I didn’t just witness your betrothal to Cranford?”
“Yes, but—”
“Did he not propose?”
“He did—”
“So you told him no when he asked?”
“Not exactly—”
“Then it is what I thought it was.” He spun around to face me at last, but I wish he hadn’t, for he had taken off his silver mask, and his eyes simmered with hurt.
“Edmond,” I pleaded.
“Don’t call me that. A betrothed lady shouldn’t be overly familiar with a mere acquaintance.”
Acquaintance. The word stung. We were only a few feet apart, and yet it felt like a chasm had opened up between us.
“I understand why you're angry at me—” I started.
“I'm not angry in the slightest,” he said. “In fact, I completely understand. I mean, look at you.” He gestured to my mask. “You’re the shining sun, a breath away from perfection, and I—” he gave a short, bitter laugh, tossing his silver mask onto the ground, “—I am not. We were never meant to occupy the same sky.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “You are…” I fumbled for the right words. Intelligent, infuriating, caring, proud, honorable—none of these words came close to encompassing everything I felt for him.
“I know exactly what I am,” he said quietly. “The bastard son of a maid, who let himself be blinded by a dream.”
“But what if it wasn't a dream?” I pleaded. “I made a mistake, but I can fix it. We can fix it. Together."
But he was already withdrawing. I grabbed his hand, desperate.
“Yesterday,” I said, “in the music room, I felt something—I feel it now. I know you do as well... don’t you?”
Edmond hesitated for a moment, and my heart leapt. But then he shook his head, and my hopes plummeted all over again.
“It’s better this way,” he said, removing his hand from mine. “The baron is a good man. A real gentleman. He’ll take care of you in a way I never could.” He drew a breath. “You’ll never have to be worried about a scandal with him."
“Edmond, please.” I reached out to him again, but he took a step back.
“Goodbye, Miss Weston,” he said with a stiff bow. “I truly wish you the best.”
He left, shutting the door quietly behind him. I stared at the space he had just occupied. I would have preferred he slam the door shut. There was something so final about his farewell, like a dying man’s last breath.
Mrs. Sweete hurried over, bending down to retrieve Edmond’s mask. “I’m so sorry, Miss Weston.”
“Sorry?” I forced myself to stand a bit straighter. “There is nothing to be sorry about, Mrs. Sweete.”
“What do you mean?”
I grabbed Edmond’s silver mask from her hands. “In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity!”
“Is now really the time to quote Sun Tzu?”
I flung open the door, my heart pounding in my chest. “I’m not ready to surrender. I was flustered for a moment, but now that I have recovered myself fully, I can face this predicament rationally. There must be a way out of this, one that lets me marry Edmond and keep my reputation.”
“Miss Weston, I urge you to think about this first.”
“There is no time to think! Every second that passes binds me to the baron. We must move quickly before the glue hardens!”
“You’re not making any sense.”
I huffed. “Are you coming with me, or not?”
Mrs. Sweete closed her eyes and let out a small sigh. “Of course I’m coming with you.”
“Good.” I gave a resolute nod. “Onward, Mrs. Sweete. I’ve a mind to win him back or die trying.”
“Miss Weston?” someone said from behind me.
I inwardly cursed, then turned around. Lord Cranford clenched his cane, studying me with a wary expression.
“Lord Cranford,” I said. “I didn’t know—that is to say, I hadn’t intended to cause you any—”
He held up a merciful hand. “You do not wish to marry me.”
The truth of it was finally laid bare. Hearing the words spoken out loud gave me an odd sense of relief, and I drew my first full breath of the night.
“No,” I admitted. “I do not.”
“You wish to marry Mr. Hawke instead. That is what you were trying to tell me on the dance floor.” There was no jealousy in his words, just fact.
Mrs. Sweete squeezed my hand, and the act bolstered me for my next moment of honesty.
I looked up at the baron, my voice unexpectedly steady as I said, “I never wanted to wound you, Lord Cranford. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, even when I wasn’t deserving of it.
” I lowered my gaze, as if doing so could conceal the shame burning my cheeks.
“I am deeply sorry. I was selfish and cruel. If you wish to cancel our engagement, I would not blame you in the slightest.”
The baron nodded slowly. “I am not wounded, Miss Weston. Disappointed, perhaps, but not injured. Despite it all, I still made you a promise, and I will stand by that promise, even though it is not the love match you hoped for.”
I looked up at him, stunned. He truly was a man of honor. I opened my mouth to say as much, but the words caught in my throat as Mrs. Sweete’s earlier question forced its way into my mind: What exactly did I want out of marriage?
And for the first time, I knew the answer with perfect clarity.
I didn’t want to be suitable. I wanted to be loved.
I had let fear close myself off from that wish.
Mother had married for love, and it had trapped her like her songbird in its cage.
I was afraid the same would happen to me.
Perhaps I was being foolish or blind, but I had tasted what real love could offer—love that didn’t punish me for my flaws—and I couldn’t turn away from it.
I squared my shoulders, feeling more clear-headed than I had all night. “I am endlessly grateful for your offer, Lord Cranford. But I release you from this engagement.”
Mrs. Sweete let out a small gasp. But I didn’t waver.
This was the right choice, not because it benefited me in any way—in fact, it did quite the opposite—but because it was the right thing to do.
Lord Cranford had proven himself to be a good and honorable man, and I respected him far too much to condemn him to a life with someone whose heart belonged to another.
A small warmth bled into my chest, and I had the distinct feeling that if Mother were here, she would be proud of my choice.
The baron’s brow furrowed with concern. “Are you sure this is what you want? It’s much harder for a woman to recover from this than a man. Your reputation will be stained, likely beyond repair.”
“I know.” I lifted my chin. “I am ready to face the consequences of my own choices.”
Perhaps for the first time.
“Very well,” he said. “If it will help, I’ll spread the word that the engagement was announced hastily—that you had never given me your answer. It is the truth, after all. Though, I’m not sure your father will be pleased.”
My father. He would hang me for this.
“Thank you,” I said.
Lord Cranford turned to leave, then paused and added, “If there is ever anything I can do to assist either of you in any way, do not hesitate to call on me.”
“The same is true for us.”
“Quite true,” Mrs. Sweete said, her eyes not quite meeting Lord Cranford’s.
“John,” he said with a kind smile—the one that made him appear so much younger. “You may both call me John, if you wish.”
With that, the baron was gone.
A quiet sense of relief settled over me. For the first time in a long while, I had done the right thing. Not for myself, but for someone else.
But the war was far from over.
“Now that that’s settled, we must go after Edmond,” I said to Mrs. Sweete. “Follow me.”
We hurried out onto the terrace that overlooked Marylebone Park, with trails leading down manicured lawns, through patches of trees, and around serene ponds. Edmond was nowhere in sight.
I stopped a servant stationed outside and demanded to know if a man matching Edmond’s description had passed by. The servant pointed toward a pond in the middle of the park. I grabbed Mrs. Sweete’s arm and bolted toward the trees.
“Shouldn’t we… take the path?” Mrs. Sweete asked between labored breaths.
“That will take twice as long. Just gird up your loins and follow me.”
Too breathless to protest, Mrs. Sweete let me drag her through the tall bushes until we crested a hill that overlooked the pond.
Resting at the bottom of the hill, beside an apple grove, was a gazebo.
From up here, I could barely make out the silhouette of two figures, one of which was clearly the tall, lean silhouette of Edmond Hawke.
I pulled Mrs. Sweete down to crouch behind a bush and peer around the foliage. “Who is that with him?” I whispered.
Mrs. Sweete squinted her eyes in the moonlight and frowned. “It’s a woman.”
“A what?” I snapped. “Can you see who it is?”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Sweete said.
“What? Who do you see?”
The two figures shifted in the shadows. Edmond and the woman got closer until they were pressed up against one another. The moonlight caught them, highlighting their faces, and my heart gave a sickening lurch.
It was Sybella.
And they were alone.
Kissing.
The world tilted. Shadows pressed in, warping the trees, and the distant sounds of the masquerade muffled the thick spring air.
“That’s not possible,” I breathed.
Mrs. Sweete clamped a hand over my mouth and pointed with her other hand at the path on the other side of the gazebo. Two figures were walking toward Sybella and Edmond—one with a lithe, snakelike frame, and the other wide and lumbering, like a bull.
The Pratts.
Sybella’s taunting clue from earlier resurfaced in my mind. Looks like there will be two weddings in the near future. The realization hit me like shrapnel. I wanted to scream, but Mrs. Sweete’s hand stayed fastened over my mouth.
I was forced to watch it all unfold like the dreadful fifth act of a Shakespearean tragedy.
The Pratts stumbled in view of the gazebo just as Edmond and Sybella pulled apart.
Mrs. Pratt erupted in a shrill cry, and Mr. Pratt immediately grabbed Edmond by the shoulders and pushed him against the gazebo’s railing. Sybella buried her face in her hands.
That siren had just sealed Edmond’s fate. And mine.
“—demand you make an offer for my daughter immediately!” Mr. Pratt roared loud enough for me to hear. I couldn’t make out Edmond’s response. I didn’t want to.
Everything inside me turned bitterly cold. I couldn’t watch anymore, or else I’d be sick right there in the bushes. I turned around, and collapsed on the dirt. Mrs. Sweete wrapped her arms around my shoulders, holding me together.
I didn’t understand what I had just witnessed.
Had Edmond’s hatred of me driven him into Sybella’s arms?
Was he playing a double game all along, as I had with the baron?
Had he ever cared for me at all? The cruel questions burned hot in my chest, Edmond’s betrayal striking like flint against the dry tinder of my own hypocrisy.
For I, too, had been pursuing multiple suitors at once.
My breathing came out ragged, and I clutched my hand over my pained chest. All I could think, over and over again, was that Edmond would marry Sybella. It was as sure a thing as dawn breaking the next morning.
The war was over.
And I had lost.