“One of them is nursing a nosebleed as we speak.” It was a wonder how these conversations came so easily, even when I really didn’t want to make him smile.
He laughed, deep in his throat. “As I suspected.”
“Actually, I did it for Clara,” I said, lifting my chin. “I chose your brother’s name first, and she offered a trade. I didn’t know it was your name she had picked. But I suppose we will endure the evening.”
I expected him to grin, make another joke, but instead something in his expression seemed to fall. He smiled anyway. “I’m surprised you would sacrifice your chance with a wealthy earl in exchange for an evening with me that is to beendured.”
I peeked at his face and realized all traces of humor were gone. He looked hurt, and it tugged at my heartstrings. “James—I won’t apologize for having ambitions. But rest assured I have given up on pursuing your brother. Obviously.” My voice was defensive, and I realized how terrible I sounded—how heartless.
He bristled, but after a moment his face washed over with calmness. He rubbed his forehead. “I know. Sometimes I find myself forgetting where I stand. Thank you for reminding me.”
I didn’t have a chance to ask what he meant before Mrs. Abbot was calling for our attention. “I welcome you all once again to our annual Twelfth Night celebration, and let us all thank Lord Trowbridge for hosting this evening.”
The room applauded.
“I see you have all found your partners,” Mrs. Abbot continued. A mumble of approval rolled through the room. “As the most anticipated event of the evening, we will begin, as always, with a waltz.”
Mrs. Abbot signaled the musicians. Blood rushed past my ears and heat tingled my face. I didn’t move, scowling in Mrs. Abbot’s direction, begging her to change that tradition. A waltz? Why couldn’t it be anything but a waltz?
“Come now, Charlotte. The other guests will think you’re unwell.”
I turned my scowl back to James. His face was careful, tentative, as he reached for my hand. “I’m the only one who knows what that frown of yours really means.” His other hand wrapped around my waist, gentle at first, then firmer, pulling me closer to him as the music began.
I tried to breathe, but it was suddenly difficult. I found my gaze trapped on the creases his smile marked beside his eyes. “And what does it mean?” I asked. I found it difficult to frown when his smile told me how much he enjoyed the sight.
“It means you adore me, remember?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“You don’t remember, or you don’t adore me?”
“Both.”
Although he was smiling, he looked far from laughter, and I knew why. This topic of conversation was much less humorousthan it once had been. We turned to the song, and I found that I didn’t think once of the steps, the poise I had practiced for hours with my instructor, or the ridicule from Mama as she had watched me and told me my back was not straight enough.
I could think only of James, the warm strength of his hands, the way he didn’t care that my deformed hand lay in his, and how his eyes bored into mine, searching for answers that I didn’t have or dare to discover.
“Perhaps if I inquire after your feelings for me often enough, one day you’ll give me the answer I want to hear.” His voice was quiet. I might have imagined it, but his hand at my waist pressed me closer.
This wasn’t fair. The longer I looked at his face, the more I wondered how long my heart had been his, and how he had managed to manipulate it without my permission.
“I can’t give you that answer.”
His smile was gone, a broken look replacing it. “You can’t, or you won’t?”
I thought of my hopes and dreams. Of Mama’s approval, blue skies, air that did not smell like fish, and society’s praise. My jaw set firm against the tears behind my eyes and I said, “Both.”
He was silent then, and it was James that looked away from me, with him keeping his secrets and me keeping mine. The dance wasn’t over, so we followed the steps of the haunting music. We danced in silence, and it was all I could do not to give him that answer he wanted.
“Was that really necessary?”
Clara planted a hand on her hip when she walked through our door a little after midnight. I sat slumped on the sofa, unblinking and quiet.
“You would pretend to be ill just to be driven home early. Just to escape Mr. Wortham?” Her gaze didn’t waver. “Miss Bentford was having such a delightful evening. As was I.”
“I’m sorry,” I croaked. My selfish ways had crept back in, but ithadindeed been necessary.
She walked over and pushed my legs off the sofa so she could sit beside me. “You are such a hypocrite.”
