Ultimately, I know I need to be a team player and do what’s best for the fair and well—boo because that’s the far more torturous option.
With a sigh, I pull my hand away from Jack’s grasp. “You need to be giving Chloe all the attention right now. The thicker, the better,” I whisper.
“Are you sure we can’t deviate from the story?” he asks with a teasing grin, and everything inside of me wants to shout,Oh, god, yes, we could do that this one time.
“Patience, Mr. Wickham, I promise you’ll be married to me soon enough.” I flutter my eyelashes. “And then you’ll be stuck with me for the rest of the day and regret our nuptials entirely.”
Fingering a loose curl resting on my cheek, he gazes softly and almost longingly at me. “If I was lucky enough to marry you, the only thing I’d ever regret is that you deserve better than someone like me.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He pivots on his gaiters, his hands tucked behind his back, and approaches Chloe with a charming smile.
And I’m left wondering who was talking, the playboy best friend or the selfish-manipulative rake he’s playing.
Either way, it was incredibly out of character.
* * *
My Aunt Camillebrought me to the Wentworth Ballroom for the first time when I was five. It stole my heart and breath away, and I haven’t been the same since. My Memere was anxious that I was too young to handle staying still in a place full of many breakable, irreplaceable things. Still, after begging day after day on our drive home from mass to see the inside of the imposing mansion on the hill, my Memere finally relented.
She wouldn’t be the one to take me, though. Her nerves couldn’t handle it.
So Aunt Camille, a marvelous woman who had once paraded down our staircase in a long red dress for dinner (before promptly tumbling down the final three, getting up, and gliding to the table), took me.
We put on our finest clothes for the visit. Looking back, I think she knew me well enough to realize that if she dressed me like a lady, I’d feel inclined to act like one. And I walked the halls of the Wentworth Mansion, home to the last British governor of New Hampshire, totally enraptured by the Georgian architecture, French landscape wallpapers, and ornate woodwork.
I stood under the crystal chandeliers that still hang in the ballroom, twirling in my pink sparkly dress and admiring how the light hit my skirt as it flared out. Aunt Camille gathered me up, leading me around the polished hardwood floor and teaching me the first few steps of a simple waltz.
“Someday, Alouette, you’ll find someone who will sweep you off your feet. Some people in this family think it’s a curse how easily we give our hearts away, but promise me you won’t let that part fade. There’s no kind of life to live without love, and you’ve been blessed to love to extremes that other people never will. Revel in it, my love, but make sure you only give your heart to someone willing to match you, piece for piece, in sharing their heart right back. There’s no greater pain than an unrequited love, and you’re worth a good worship. You always will be.” She winked, twirling me as my gaze admired the ceiling decked with teals and yellow.
“How will I know if he’ll love me back?” I asked.
“He’ll tell you, more than just with cheap words, but with his glances and actions.”
“What kind of things will he do?” At five years old, I was already a hopeless romantic, waiting for my Prince Eric or Phillip to come and waltz me away. Princes who vanquished dragons and…well, I’m not entirely sure what Eric did, but he was handsome and had a dog named Max and a fancy boat. Which was cool.
Aunt Camille smiled softly at me, “He’ll do the things that don’t come naturally to him just to make you happy.”
“Is that what Uncle Guy did for you? Is that how you knew?”
“Every day, love. He reminded me every day.”
“Lydia, the dance—” A tug on my arm brings me standing fully in the ballroom and glancing at Bridget’s perfect eyebrows. I wipe my cheek. I didn’t have crying on my bingo card today, but that’s the thing about grief. Something that should be safe—like a room I’ve entered at least a thousand times since I was five—will suddenly unlock a memory, like ballroom dancing with an aunt you love and miss more than life itself. That’s all it takes for the hole to open up in your chest and grief to flood your body, settling more heavily on your limbs than you’re used to carrying around daily.
“Go find one of the closed-off rooms and take a beat. I can fill in,” Bridget whispers. Mary dancing would bePride and Prejudiceheresy, yet the same woman who just sent me halfway across the state for a time period-appropriate umbrella—okay, I did that to myself—is offering to commit blasphemyfor me.
A huge part of me knows I should disregard Bridget’s offer. I should push through and join the dancing group—be a team player at all costs. Lydia’s supposed to dance the entire night with multiple partners and look like an absolute fool. It’s one reason that Mr. Darcy finds the Bennet family so inferior in their behaviors.
And no one will care. You’re torturing yourself for nothing.
The thought crystalizes, and I remember how I felt when we ran into Tyler. I desperately wanted to do the kind, dependable thing and help wipe down his shirt, even though it felt oddly wrong. Like sometimes, the right thing is actually being a little selfish, and maybe what I think is selfish isn’t that selfish at all.
I swipe at another tear, glancing briefly at Jack who is hovering in a corner out of character. Wickham doesn’t come to this ball; it’s part of why Darcy and Elizabeth fight. But since our aim is to involve every cast member, he’s wearing formal attire, including knee breeches, a white shirt, and a navy tailcoat.
He’s been marvelous today. Although his British accent needs work, he’s still trying, and I couldn’t be more grateful for him.
A cloud outside breaks, and the sun falls on his dark curls, catching the lighter streaks. My heart drums in my chest, and sweat coats my palms.
Again, the wordsmy wifebecome a dangerous earworm in my mind. I’m supposed to dance with Jack after the first song, and after the reaction to his lips against my hand, I don’t know how I will handle that.
He smiles lightly, but then his brow furrows, and he mouths, “Are you okay?”
