Elizabeth hardly spoke for the entire evening, and Charlotte seemed to be the only one who noticed.
After dinner, Charlotte loudly declared she fancied a walk in the gardens, and Elizabeth rushed to join her. The two wandered through archways draped in wisteria. Charlotte’s maid trailed behind them as they walked through halls of violet flowers.
“They really intend to make you marry him,” Charlotte said in a hushed tone.
Elizabeth sighed heavily. “Yes.”
“I really thought they’d see reason eventually.” Charlotte pursed her lips and glanced at her. “And you’re all right with this?”
“I don’t think I have a choice. My father already accepted on my behalf and refuses to listen.”
“Hmm,” Charlotte mused. “Less than ideal.”
Elizabeth gave a broken laugh. “I’ll say.”
“I guess you’ll be married and very rich. Maybe you won’t need to see him too often after you’re wed? Is it possible you can be happy with that?”
Elizabeth chewed her lip, and they walked in silence for a while.
She held Charlotte's gaze for a moment and hesitated before saying, “Have you ever thought about leaving? Just running away from it all?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean … leaving the nobility.”
“You’re joking, right? Why on earth would you leave?”
Elizabeth didn’t have the words. She looked away and felt her expression darken.
“Lizzy?” Charlotte’s voice had lost its mirth, replaced by a note of concern. “You would be murdered or hungry and penniless. Even when the common women travel, going without a male escort invites trouble of the worst kind.”
“I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I’m sure it would be all right.”
Charlotte smiled in her easy-going manner. “Then, let’s not worry about things that have not come to pass. Your parents might let you off the engagement yet. Maybe you can feign ill and skip the next ball?”
“Yes. Maybe you're right.” Elizabeth donned her court mask, and said nothing further on the subject.
***
Back in Briarton, Elizabeth attempted to return to her normal routine, but as she sat in the living room practicing her needlepoint, she had never felt more stifled. The pink roses she embroidered on the cushion stared back at her, mocking, and soulless. She punctured the cushion with the needle once more, and stopped, unable to bear finishing another stitch.
Sighing heavily, she rested the needle gently in her lap, still threaded with a strand of pink, and looked wistfully out the window. Something blue caught her eye. A bluebird twittered just outside the glass, hovering in midair for a moment, before flying out of sight.
Free. It looked free.
She glanced down at her manicured nails and the expensive material of the cushion underneath her fingertips. The bracelet that her mother had bought her to congratulate her on her engagement. To silence her complaints about being arranged to someone so horrible.
This was not freedom.
She tore the bracelet off, and set the cushion down. Rising, she called out for a servant.
A manservant rushed in, looking at her in concern. “What is it, Lady Elizabeth?”
“Ready my horse.”
The manservant blinked in confusion but inclined his head and departed.
Elizabeth found a quill and spare bit of parchment and scrawled a quick note to her mother. She set the note down on the table in the entrance hall and pushed the doors open wide. A rush of cool air brushed her face, and she inhaled deeply, briefly closing her eyes.
