Eliza came to my room, eager to prove herself equal to the task. She helped me into my emerald green gown first, then arranged my hair. I stood in front of the looking glass, turning as the candlelight caught the silken fabric. The scooping bustline and sleeves were edged in black lace to match my gloves. I usually dressed in pastels, but this gown made me feel confident and elegant, like a married woman hosting her first ball.
I took a deep breath, smoothing my gloved hands over my skirts. It was ridiculous to care so much about what I looked like. Jonathan would be sure to avoid looking in my direction anyway. I was being selfish. Tonight was about Margaret.
A knock sounded on the door. All day, Charlotte had been nowhere to be seen. I had imagined she was resting from the journey—or perhaps she felt awkward or even envious being here. But I recognized the rhythm of that knock. It was hers.
“Come in.” I pretended to adjust one of my curls as the door opened.
Charlotte stepped inside. She wore blue, of course. Her hair was piled high atop her head, a few ringlets hanging with perfect symmetry over her brow. Her jaw lowered as she took me in, a rare hint of approval crossing her face. “You look perfect.”
I smiled, taking one small step in her direction. “Thank you.”
“I cannot believe you are hosting your first ball.” Her voice was passive, yet curious. One of her eyebrows raised. “Your letters were far too brief. We have much to catch up on.”
“Much.” I tried to laugh, but my head spun. “What do you think of the house?”
“It is lovely. Quite grand. But I would be changing the furnishings in the drawing room promptly if I were you.” She clutched the pendant of her necklace with a sigh. “I simply cannot believe you did it.”
“Did what?”
“Secured Mr. Croft, of course.” A smile tugged on one side of her mouth. “You did have fierce competition, after all.”
It all felt far too recent to jest about. “I didn’t even mean to secure him. It was all an accident. All I wanted was to go for a swim.”
She cast me a skeptical look. “That is difficult to believe.”
I waved a hand through the air. “You are not the only one who doesn’t believe me.” My heart pinched, and I couldn’t hide the pain from my expression. I looked down in an effort to hide it, but Charlotte walked closer with a curious look.
“Are you still in love with him?” Her voice wasn’t gentle or reassuring. In true Charlotte fashion, it was rather blunt and accusatory.
“Are you confessing that you knew I loved him all along?” I asked in a quiet voice.
Her gaze fell to the floor. “I suspected it. And you were right. I was a terrible friend to you.” The words sounded painful, as if she had never taken responsibility for a wrongdoing in her entirelife. “After I left Brighton, I realized how foolish I was to be so unkind to my dearest friend. There is no fortune or house worth trading for you. I don’t know what came over me. I-I cannot afford to lose you.” When she lifted her gaze to mine, my heart was struck with a fresh feeling of pity.
“You have not lost me,” I said in a firm voice. “I invited you here, did I not?”
She smiled, but I still sensed a gap between us. It would take longer that one conversation to bridge. My trust in Charlotte had been broken, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t one day be mended. Most of all, I wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to be loved by someone else besides me. Whether she realized it or not, she needed to be loved. Everyone did.
Even as the subject oflovecrossed my mind, Charlotte spoke again. “So do you love him, then?”
I sighed. “Yes.”
Her brow furrowed. “Then why are you sulking?”
“Because he does not loveme.”
She narrowed her eyes, a smug twist to her lips. “We shall see about that.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
JONATHAN
Alice had insisted on keeping most of the details of Margaret’s ball a surprise, and now I understood why. I couldn’t help but smile as I walked into the parlor-turned- ballroom, with its seashell decorations, candles, and the table filled with jams and breads. Some of Margaret’s paintings and drawings had even been moved from the south wing to be displayed on the parlor walls.
My sister clung to my arm, dressed in a red ballgown. It was far more detailed than any of her other dresses, but she didn’t seem to mind the extra embroidery and lace. I had worried she would be uncomfortable, but since the moment I had led her out of the south wing, she had been staring down at the red silk fabric—watching it move with each of her steps. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders the way she preferred it, but it had been brushed smooth, shining like honey in the candlelight.
Her eyes darted around the room—first at the shells, then at the table filled with bread and jam. I sensed her excitement, but also her nerves. The small handful of guests,as well as the musicians, were already gathered in the parlor awaiting Margaret’s entrance. Penelope and Joanna had made the journey from Brighton with their husbands, adding to the numbers in the party.
“This is all for you.” I craned my neck to catch a better look at Margaret’s expression. Her lips pressed together. She clung tighter to my arm, a wrinkle of confusion in her brow. I waited with her near the doorway, watching the signs of unrest within her. I had no wish to overwhelm her.
