What have I done?
Four
The party held at the Sharpe Estate was to be a symbol of declaration of our match in the house in which I am to wed. I assumed that Mama and Mrs. Sharpe thought the announcement would deter the curious gaze of the public eye, both for the quickness of the engagement and for the parties involved. The public eye is a formidable foe that’d eat me alive, and that night was no different from the ruse I had held.
The ballroom was a sickly gray color. Guests milled about, caught up in idle chatter and gossip. My skin crawled at the very mention of my name uttered by strangers, casting wary glances pierced through my flesh. Judging as if I was nothing more than livestock—a commodity to be bought and sold howeverthey pleased. The music couldn’t drown out the stifled scream building in my chest.
I bet she is with child and is forcing William’s hand. It is the only reason why someone as handsome as him would marry her.
I heard that the McCallister blackmailed the Sharpes, forcing William to marry.
Why is someone as ugly as her marrying him? She looks as if she is going to faint if you so much as breathe on her.
I wrung my hands, scanning the room, praying for someone to see the panic taking hold of my body, praying for someone to come up and to ask if I am all right—to save me from the void of the marriage and the pain building in my chest.
The phantom seared heat on my flesh as if he still had a hold of me.
He will soon.
Face after face, stranger after stranger, I gave up. I resigned myself to the corner of the room, sipping on the champagne flute, its astute buzz of alcohol climbing. My hand shook, and the liquid sloshed over the crystal glass. I choked down the tears ready to burst from the facade I’d practiced since Father’s funeral.
I curled my fingers around the flute, turning them a tinge white.
I hated what he’d done, hated Mama for what had to be done, and hated Miriam for being simply what I can not be.
The zing of the alcohol mingling with awful realizations made me lightheaded. The room spun, andthe cacophony of music and voices slammed into my head.
I’m trapped.
I was truly and utterly alone.
Air in the room became stifling, the heat setting my innards aflame.
I wiped my hands on another pink dress with trestles that buried me under the bundles of fabrics and tulle—farther from the tiny glimpses of sickly grayish hue.
Sweat beaded my forehead as I struggled to listen to the babbling of one of Mama’s friends gushing about my fiancé.
I shrank into myself, hiding under all the fabric as the warmth and heat threatened to suffocate me.
As I tried to steady myself by gripping the table, ragged breaths came out in gasps, and the room tilted. I clutched my bodice, forcing air into my restricted lungs.
The music and the gossip collided with one another in a humdrum of a singular voice. Bile climbed my throat, the sick taste of it coating my mouth as my steadied arm shook.
“Dear,” Mama said, “you don’t look well. Perhaps you should sit down.”
Her lips thinned into a wry, plastered smile reserved for the group as her eyes twinkled with concern. Gazes of the women floated above me, skirts enveloping the tiny corner.
One woman scooped me off the table and walked me toward a sitting chair a few paces from the gatheringcrowd. Another woman fanned profusely, ruffling away a few black strands stuck to my face and neck. All I saw in their concerned expressions were the sentiments Mama echoed time and time again.
Don’t ruin the perfect picture of the ruse you are.
A perfect composure held together by measly frayed threads.
I croaked out, “I need some air,” and handed off my drink to a lady in favor of staggering toward the large open balcony overlooking the small gardens below.
I pushed past partygoers congratulating me as though I were a prize horse in a parade before being slaughtered. Smiles—cruel smiles—never once wavered as the balcony archway greeted me and the budding summer air twined itself into my hair and panicked lungs. I rested my head against the pillar of cool stone, resisting the urge to sink onto the granite floor.
The bite of the air left goose bumps along my bare shoulders, and I shivered. The soft perfume of roses drifted from the bushes below, the full moon illuminating the garden in silvery light as soft petals clamored to greet its long-lost lover, only to be restrained by another.
