My eyes met James's across the room, and he smiled, trying to reassure me. But he looked nervous too. That made me feel better. I sat back, trying to breath normally. After an eternity, the song preceding ours ended. A young boy had played the fiddle while his sister sang, and I waited to compliment thembefore standing. I left one of my gloves on the seat of my chair when I stood, knowing how strange it must have looked to still wear a glove on one hand.
I sat down on the bench first, and James sat beside me. I watched as he positioned the same song we had played before in front of us.Quasi una fantasia. I put my hand over the keys, but it shook. I focused my gaze on the music, and glanced at James once before I began.
He nodded, I breathed, and then I played the first note.
James joined in at the perfect moment. Much like before, I lost myself in the music, the beautiful stillness of it, the precise and flawless way it fit inside my heart. I forgot the spectators and any judgments they may have had.
When the song ended and the room burst into applause, I stayed sitting at the bench a moment longer before turning around. James gave me a smile, a lopsided tip of his mouth. How could I go a day without seeingthat? I didn't want to know the damage it would do to my heart.
I found my seat again, troubled and suddenly quite anxious to leave. I hadn’t forgotten my rules; I had disregarded them. Staying away from James was the only way to reverse this change within me, to keep my feelings hidden and to remember my goals. It needed to stop. I considered feigning illness so I could return home, but then I remembered Clara. I could not abandon her. Operation 'Rosemary' was still necessary, and I hated to admit it, but I needed James's help.
But there was still the Twelfth Night party…perhaps I could wait until then.
With my mind made up, I avoided James for the rest of the party. I knew I couldn't speak to him again tonight—not when I was so confused and emotional. I remained pinned to Clara’s side, and to Miss Bentford’s, and to Rachel’s and Lucy’s. Itwas long after midnight when we finally climbed back into the carriage.
Miss Bentford hummed a cheerful tune, swaying to it as we began our short journey. “You will never believe what Mrs. Abbot said.” The moonlight glinted on her wide eyes. “Lord Trowbridge offered to host the Twelfth Night ball. Is that not most unexpected? Mrs. Abbot says he hasn’t hosted anything in years.”
I exchanged a glance with Clara in the dark.
“Unexpected, indeed,” I muttered. “Perhaps he was inspired by someone. He might wish to set a better example of hospitality to his daughter.”
“Perhaps.” Miss Bentford began pulling the pins from her hair. “Good heavens, does my head ache. But it was all quite worthwhile.” She smiled, turning her attention out the window. “What a delightful evening.”
Her contentment was endearing, though I was a little envious of it. I still worried over Clara and how she had felt about the party. My worries were confirmed when we returned to the cottage and she finally joined me in my room to discuss the events of the evening.
“Thomas didn't speak a word to me tonight,” she said as she sat down on my bed, running a comb through her hair.
I yawned, pulling my blankets up around me. Hope was waning, and I struggled to hold on to it. “James is going to help. If nothing changes by Twelfth Night, we will fix everything at the party. Not to worry.”
Clara just stared at me, not saying a word. Sorrow was heavy in her eyes and I hated to see it. I wondered if she could see the same in mine.
“How you have changed, Charlotte.” Clara said with a soft smile. “It is comforting to know that, for the first time in my life, someone cares for me.”
I frowned. “Mama cared for you. She still does.”
She shook her head. “I have been forced to believe that all Mama cares for is herself. I wish it wasn’t true, but anything else is a lie.”
I sat up straighter. “Iknowshe cares for me. She wants only the best for me. She always has.” My voice was growing shrill with a hint of uncertainty.
Clara sighed, tugging on the last knot in her hair. “You may choose to believe that. But I cannot.”
My tense shoulders relaxed slightly. “It’s only because the two of you don’t always agree. Mama and I have the same beliefs, goals, and opinions. I suppose that’s why we share a deeper bond.”
“But do you still share those things? I’m not certain that Mama’s beliefs are truly yours any longer. You can be happy without all the things you had before—and without all the advantages of a rich and titled match.” Clara’s eyes showed true concern, but I tried to ignore it.
“I—I don’t think so.” I took a deep breath. “It is all I have hoped for and dreamed of my entire life.”
“That was before you came here…before you learned all you have, met the people you did.” She gave me a knowing glance. “Before you met Mr. Wortham.”
I froze, feeling suddenly defensive and angry. “Don’t suggest that he will keep me here, Clara. The very moment I have an opportunity to leave this place, I will. I’ll forget everything about this town. I will not miss it. I won’t.” Even as I spoke the words I wasn’t sure I believed them.
Clara sighed, long and slow. “The day you admit you love something, anything, anyone…I will probably faint out of disbelief.”
She started to leave the room, but I stopped her. “I wish I understood how you love so easily,” I said in a quick voice.
She turned, halfway out of the doorway. “It is only difficult if you make it so.” She smiled again and faded into the dark corridor.
Chapter Twenty-Three
