The following day was eventful indeed. I spent the morning hours trying on my new gowns while Mama circled me. Anna made several attempts at my hair, and Mama swiftly made vocal her disapproval of all of them. By the fifth attempt, Anna’s hands shook, but she managed to create a style Mama found acceptable. I watched Anna’s eyes in the mirror. She was terrified. I made a note in my mind to apologize for Mama later.
“Wear the blue gown,” Mama said. “It matches your eyes.” She turned and walked toward the door. “And it looks the least absurd with the gloves.” The door slammed shut behind her. I flinched.
When I finally came down the stairs that afternoon, Mama, Louisa, and Eleanor waited at the bottom. I was nervous for Mama’s reaction, but was relieved to see her smile.
“I daresay Mr. Webb will be smitten out of his wits tonight.” Her voice was full of mischief. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
I tried to believe her, but I didn’t feel beautiful. Not at all.
Mama threaded her arm around my elbow and guided me to the drawing room. She closed the door. “Do you remember what you must do?”
“Lean in close. Listen closely while he speaks about himself. Laugh at every witty comment he makes. Touch his arm.” My voice was stiff.
“And the smile…?”
I demonstrated my best flirtatious smile.
“I suppose it will have to suffice.”
My smile fell.
“Now. You will avoid sitting on his left side. Keep your right hand far away from him. He must not suspect anything.”
“I will try my best, Mama.”
She watched me from the corner of her eye as she walked toward the pianoforte. She ran her fingers over the keys, shaking her head. “What a shame that you will never play again.” Her voice was cold.
My words came without permission. “No, I am still quite capable of playing.”
Her head snapped in my direction. “How?”
“In Craster…there was a man who taught me. Well, we played music together, really. He played the right hand and I played the left?—”
“Who was this man?” Mama demanded.
“His name was James.” I realized my mistake as Mama’s eyes widened in shock. “I mean—Mr. Wortham.”
“James?” Mama’s face pulled tight with indignation. “How improper, Charlotte. How well did you know this man?”
My heart pounded. “Too well. But he was very kind to me. A friend.”
“And his station?”
I paused. “Below mine. But he is very agreeable, and?—”
“That will be quite enough!” Mama rushed forward and clutched my arm, her face firm and unyielding. “Thank the heavens I was wise enough to call you home from that wretched place. I was right. Youwill notplay the pianoforte again, because you will never see this ‘James’ again.”
My voice was a mutter. “I do not plan to.”
She smoothed her hair. “Good. Very good.”
I gave a quick nod. Awkwardness hung in the air, and I knew that I couldn’t stay in this room a moment longer. Too many things were racing through my mind and heart, and I needed to be alone to sort through them.
“I am going to my room to rest before Mr. Webb arrives.”
Mama glanced her approval at me as I hurried to the door. When I was out of the drawing room, I paused in the corridor. Our family portraits hung just ahead of me, joined now with the Bentfords.’ Mine had been painted just two years before.
I stepped closer, examining Mama’s portrait. Her eyes were sharp as always, and there was an overall air of disdain in her countenance. Her head was upturned slightly, and her face seeped confidence and condescension. Her lips were pressed tight, implying that the only thing that could make her smile would be money and power and entitlement.
