She put a hand against her stomach and bent over. “I fear I shall be sick.”
“Just don’t get sick all over Lord Trowbridge’s shoes, I beg you.”
She laughed, but it was stiff and abrupt. “How should I…behave around him tomorrow? Should I just enter and wait for him to speak?”
I smiled teasingly. “Oh, he will not say a single word. Surely he will just step forward and kiss you, right there.”
Her face turned scarlet and she sat down on the floor where she stood. I laughed and sat beside her. She pressed her hands against her face in absolute horror. “That cannot happen.”
“Why not?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea how to…kiss.” She spoke the word as if it were poison. “Oh, I sound so very scandalous, do I not?” She sighed. “You must know. Surely you have kissed dozens of men.”
“I haven’t.” My voice was quiet as if I were confessing something embarrassing. “I have never kissed any man, in fact.” I had always flirted and coaxed but I had never kissed. Mama had told me to keep from all physical attention until an official engagement was in place. I had no complaints. I had hardly entertained a single thought of kissing before I had seen James’s teasing grin and firm jaw and dimpled cheeks. “I’m afraid I am just as ignorant as you in the matter.”
Clara looked acutely surprised. She examined my face. “You are serious. I suppose you wouldn’t have told me the story of your first kiss before…when we weren’t such dear friends as we are now.” She smiled fondly and reached for my hand, the ugly one everyone here seemed to prefer. “Thank you for all your help. Will you assist me with my hair in the morning?”
“Of course.” I stood, brushing off my skirts. “Try to sleep.”
She stretched her legs on the floor. “I don’t think it’s possible.”
I tipped my head down with a grin. “Just think—he is probably reading the letter as we speak, pacing the entryway in torment and running his fingers through his hair?—”
“Oh, stop it!” She dove forward and swatted pathetically at my ankles.
I danced away, laughing until my stomach ached. I moved quickly up the stairs. “Goodnight!” I called only once I was out of sight.
“Goodnight,” she said in a voice close to a whimper.
We arranged her hair in a simple twist, adding a few shells Clara had collected our first week here. They were white and tan and small, wedged between thin twists of hair that led to the bulk of her hair in the back. Two long curls hung in the front, framing her face. She looked beautiful.
“Is it too much?” she asked, patting her hair tentatively before the mirror.
I stepped back, shaking my head with a smile. “Not at all. You look like a sea princess of some kind.”
“I do not,” she said, fighting a smile.
“Stop it. You do. Now, are you ready?”
She took a shaky breath, rubbing her palms over the skirts of her simple ivory gown. “No. But I mustn’t be late.” She moved toward the door and steadied herself on the frame.
“Go on,” I instructed, hiding my amusement.
She dropped her hand from the door and walked like a ghost down the stairway. I was afraid she would topple over before she reached the bottom. I could hardly wait until she returned home later that night. Time would crawl by like an ant crossing a ballroom.
Patience had never been a virtue of mine.
Clara had already helped me into my gown for the day, but my hair had not been touched. So I hurried back to my bedchamber and stepped in front of the mirror. I stared at my reflection, taking in every change in my appearance, every newfound flaw. The hand, the diminished curves, the disheveled hair. I expected it to bother me, but something in the sight gave me new confidence, a different kind that I hadn’t known before. It wasn’t the confidence that I would catch the attention of everyeligible gentleman, but the confidence that I was capable of anything I set my mind to. I had undertaken much over the last months, and still I stood here.
Once I returned to Hampshire, I would find beauty again for just enough time to win my perfect match. But for now, I could find peace in the good things I had, just as little Sophia had taught me.
After making myself somewhat presentable, I decided to spend the day with the Abbots.
When I arrived at Clearfield House, Lucy and Rachel were working on embroidery. I sat beside them and simply watched, knowing my left hand would be much slower at the task. Mrs. Abbot ordered a tray of food and we all spent several hours visiting in the drawing room, listening to Rachel sing while Lucy played on the pianoforte, and reading our favorite passages from the books we had already spent time discussing.
Mrs. Abbot sat up straight, as if suddenly remembering something very important. “Charlotte, I don’t believe I have told you about our upcoming Christmastide parties.”
“Lucy told me briefly.”
