My heart beat fast, and I found myself wishing to be more like her. How had I been so unkind to her all these years? What benefit did it bring me to treat her so poorly? Guilt crept into my soul with an inky blackness I couldn’t ignore.
I was appalled by the way she was speaking. It had annoyed me so much before to hear of her romance novels and ridiculous dreams, but seeing them dashed was so much worse. I smiled and clasped her hand with my whole one, feeling the threat of tears in my own throat. “I should be very surprised if he does not fall madly in love with you. How could he not? You are wonderful in every way. I have treated you as less than you areall these years.” A tear slipped out of my eye despite my effort to hold it. “I’m sorry. I am so very sorry.”
She looked surprised at first, then blinked back her own tears and smiled. Without a word, she leaned forward and hugged me. I squeezed her back, a sudden surge of gratitude filling me, head to toe, for this sister I had taken for granted.
“What is it about Lord Trowbridge that you admire?” I sat back with a grin. Her cheeks reddened once again. “Is he kind? Is he brave and true?” I searched my brain to remember the words she had used to describe the man she hoped to marry. “Literature,” I remembered. “Does he care for it? And care for others above himself?”
A small sigh escaped her lips and she grinned, nodding.
“All that is left is for him to fall in love with you.” I was hardly aware of my own words. I sounded like a romantic dolt, and far from logical. “That should not take long at all.”
She laughed softly, wiping a stream of liquid from under her nose. I laughed, snorting by accident. Her eyes widened and she burst into giggles, and I followed. Certainly I had never trulygiggledbefore today. She released a slow breath and choked on a laugh.
“How are we going to make him love you?” I asked. “We must formulate a plan.”
She shook her head. “That is not how it works. I can’t make him love me. He can’t make himself love me either. It’s all up to his heart.”
I stopped myself from rolling my eyes again. “Very well. If his heart possesses any level of intellect, then it will choose to love you. If not, his heart is irrevocably stupid, and you are better off without him.”
She grinned and put a hand over her mouth to cover it.
“Mama never specified that it had to be me that married him,” I said. “It could very well be you.” A shard of grief hitme as I looked down again at my bandaged hand. I would grow up to be an old spinster like Miss Bentford. Mama would come to prefer Clara over me. A deep determination grew suddenly inside me. No. I would find a way to make Mama happy. I would still make a good match of my own, just not with Lord Trowbridge.
I shook my head in an effort to clear it and gave Clara a serious look. “You must wear your lavender dress today. With the matching ribbons.”
She jumped from the bed and hurried toward the door. “I’m going to be late. May I borrow your ivory shawl?”
I smiled. “Of course.”
She ran from the room with her skirts in hand, reminding me of the time we had held up our hems to fill our skirts with pastries from the kitchen. Cook had chased us over three floors before we surrendered. I smiled at the fond memory.
A few minutes later, Clara returned in her lavender gown, and I did my best to help her with the buttons.
“You are beautiful,” I said.
Her brow furrowed in surprise. “Thank you.” She twirled once and took my shawl, rushing down the stairs. I heard the front door close behind her.
The light snores of Miss Bentford from her bedchamber were the only sound that remained inside the cottage. In the silence, I remembered the letter Clara had just written for me to Mama. I chewed my lip, considering disposing of it and writing the truth instead. After much thought, I decided to send it anyway. It would keep me in Mama’s good favor, and it would do no harm. Mama would simply be surprised if we later informed her that Clara won Lord Trowbridge’s heart instead of me.
When Mama returned for us, I would convince her to allow me another season in London—another chance. My hand could be concealed somehow. All would be well, just as Mrs. Abbothad told me. I could still have what I had always dreamed of. In fact, with the responsibility of winning Lord Trowbridge now primarily Clara’s, I felt a strange sense of freedom. She could save us from ruin; my life and dreams were mine again.
I walked down the stairs and sat on the sofa in the sitting room where James had sat beside me the night before. I stared at the place he had been sitting, a twinge of fondness entering my heart. Our conversation had been brief, but real. I tried very hard not to, but I smiled at the thought of our secret joke. I had never heard him laugh so much before, and I found myself craving the sound. I wanted him to come visit again so I could pretend at how much I hated him and keep it a secret that I was beginning to think of him as a friend.
I shook my head in dismay and leaned back on the arm of the sofa. Why was I thinking about James? Against my will, my heart beat faster at the thought of his smile and sometimes blue, sometimes green eyes. I thought of Clara’s list:He must be kind, brave, and true.James was certainly kind. Too kind. And he was brave. He had fought a man for our reticule, after all. True, lover of literature, selfless…I marked them on the checklist in my mind. And handsome. Much too handsome. A new realization struck me harder, and something began to sink inside me. Was I any of those things?
How could I deserve someone like that? I didn’t. I did not deserve James.
Sitting up, I stopped myself. Why did that matter? I did not want him anyway. He was too poor for my usual preference. And he enjoyedfishing,of all things. I was being absurd. I did not like the direction my thoughts were heading, so I buried the new tracks in my head, directing my mind back to what I was comfortable with.
With a deep breath, I thought of my future—the one Mama spoke of in her letter—the one I had worked for all my life.I envisioned my grand house and pretty dresses and perfect match. No James, no North, no grey skies or rocky coast.
No struggles, no disappointments, and no heart.
Chapter Fourteen
“Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”
Mrs. Abbot ordered a tray of my favorite lemon tea cakes when I came to visit Clearfield House. A week had passed now since I had seen her, and she welcomed me with tea and all my favorite sweets.
