“I know no ways to mince it in love,
but directly to say ‘I love you.’”
Twelfth Night came on a Wednesday. The days had been filled with an abundance of silk ribbons and golden papers, fresh greenery, the decorating of masks—and my determined avoidance of James. I found that my head was clearer in his absence, but there was a deep well in my chest when I thought of him—which was more often than I liked.
To make tonight’s Twelfth Night party entertaining, Mrs. Abbot, Rachel, Lucy, and I had created dozens of masks for the masquerade dance. Lord Trowbridge had offered to host, but had given the Abbots leave to carry out their usual traditions in his home. The masks were also used for performances from the wassailers, so I finished painting the upturned lips and exaggerated eyes of one of our more eccentric masks. I was proud that it turned out especially unique due to my limited use of my right hand. I held it up in front of my face and sneaked behind Lucy.
“Charlotte!” She gasped, clutching her chest. “That is truly dreadful.” She laughed, holding up her own mask, a neat painting of pursed lips and triangular eyes.
“Horrifying,” I said through a laugh.
I sat back and started on another, leaning my elbow on the windowsill beside me. We were almost finished, and soon I would return home to prepare myself for the party. I had spent little time thinking about how to help Clara and Lord Trowbridge. I felt terrible for being so selfish, but most of my worry had been directed at seeing James again, and how I could manage to avoid him. As far as I knew though, nothing had changed for my sister—Lord Trowbridge still acted indifferent toward her, although I knew it wasn’t true. There must have been a way to bring them together. I just needed to find it.
“How is your hand healing?”
The question came from Rachel, breaking me from my thoughts. I cleared my throat. “Very well.”
She eyed my glove. “You don’t need to keep it covered around us. I assure you, we will not judge you for the sight of it.”
I smiled. “That is very kind of you, but I’m…more comfortable this way.” I shifted in my chair.
“Quite well. I was curious, that’s all.” She gave a soft smile and set to work again on her mask. “Who do you hope to choose as your partner tonight?” Her voice turned giddy.
My brow furrowed. “What?”
Mrs. Abbot looked up from her work, surprise crossing her face. “You have not heard of the tradition?”
I shook my head.
“It’s the best part of the evening! Just before the dance, each lady draws a slip of paper from a hat with the name of a gentleman written upon it. In the ballroom, she may look at the paper and find the gentleman there who will be her partner for the rest of the party.”
Lucy grinned wickedly. “Last year I picked the name of the most handsome man, Mr.—”
I didn’t hear his name. Her words quickly faded into the background of my nerves. I couldnotpick James. I quickly calmed my worries, reminding myself of how unlikely it would be for me to draw his name from so many.
“So…who do you hope to pick?” Rachel was looking at me again.
I shrugged, trying to appear more calm than I felt. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Of course it does!” She gave a sly grin to rival her sister’s. “You hope to be partnered with Mr. Wortham.”
My heart jumped. “I do not.”
“You do! Oh, would that not be perfect?” She turned toward her mother. “We all agree that the two of you would make a lovely match.” She smiled at me. “And I can tell he is absolutely smitten by you.”
Why did everyone keep saying that? I laughed, but it sounded nervous. “I can assure you, he is not.” I stood from my chair, eager to leave all these searching gazes that knew far too much about me. “I must ready myself for the ball, but I’ll be sure to return early for the rest of the preparations.” I gave a shaky smile before turning toward the door and walking as fast as I could outside.
My heart quickened with every step, growing more and more nervous about this evening and what it could entail. I had too many questions—my heart was concealing too much from me, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to discover the truth it had to tell. Lies often served as a convenient barrier, a shield from the pain and complications truth always brought with it. It was growing late, and I only had a few hours before the party would begin.
When I stepped through the door of our cottage, I stopped. Clara was sitting on the sofa, hastily wiping tears from her cheeks. “What on earth is the matter?”
I crossed the room, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She sniffled, and I felt something wet fall on my arm. “I can’t do this any longer. I don’t want to go to the party. I don’t want to see Thomas ever again.”
I patted her shoulder, releasing a long breath. “I don’t want to go either.” My voice came out in a whisper. Silence fell in the air, broken only by her irregular sniffling. “But we must go,” I said finally. “Try your very hardest to dry your tears, and wewillgo to the party.”
She didn’t seem to listen, but closed her eyes. “Perhaps you were right to want to leave this place. It would be much easier to live without Thomas if I wasn’t forced to see him every day, and if the reason he didn’t love me was because I moved far away and he forgot about me.”
I sighed. “Don’t give up just yet, Clara. Something is bound to change tonight, I just know it.”
