“Very well,” Bernadette said tightly. She felt her stomach twist with fear and anger.
Lady Lockwood had arrived at the house that afternoon, bringing an invitation to a ball at Lockwood House that evening. It was just two days before the intended ceremony. Bernadette would go to the chapel with swollen, weary eyes and a head hazy with tiredness. It wasn’t fair or right.
“Lady Lockwood insists,” Mama had said sternly. “And we must do as she wishes.”
Bernadette had tried to protest, but as she stood in her bedchamber, just an hour before they needed to get into the coach, she found she had no strength left. She couldn’t oppose Mama, Papa, and Lord and Lady Lockwood. She didn’t have thestrength.
“I’ll fetch your gown, milady.”
Bernadette stood in the room, staring at the curtains and the dark window beyond. One thing she had insisted on was that she be allowed to choose her own gown. And her pale blue muslin ballgown was the one she chose. Luckily, it had been freshly cleaned just a few days ago and it was ready to wear.
“Here it is, milady.”
“Thank you.”
Bernadette stood still while Judy helped her into the gown. Her heart twisted painfully as she looked at her reflection. She felt a strange, perverse gladness as she stood there in her old muslin dress. It suited her: classic rather than fashionable. A plain and simple pale muslin skirt fell from a slightly darker silk waistband, the muslin bodice having a square neck and the sleeves ordinary puffs—no brilliants were sewn onto it, no white-on-white embroidery, none of the trappings of fashion. She wasn’t glamorous or elegant like Lady Emily, and she wasn’t going to try to be. This was who she was—plain, ordinary, and maybe uninteresting. That was what Lord and Lady Lockwood had chosen for Nicholas, and if he objected, perhaps he should object.
She was not going to change herself.
She waited as Judy styled her hair.
“Thank you,” she murmured to her maid as she stood up.Her hair was arranged in a chignon, the front curled as she sometimes wore it, a silver chain at her neck as her only jewelry. She wasn’t pretending. This was her. If Nicholas was scared or found her distasteful, he should say so. Hating herself felt worse.
She walked into the hallway and went down the stairs to where her parents waited. She was ready. She would face theTonas herself, and they had to ridicule her for not fitting their rules if they so chose to. They were bound by their rules, but she was free. She could almost pity them.
She felt her heart thump as she clambered into the coach with her parents. Defying theTonwas one thing; defying Nicholas entirely another. His opinion would hurt no matter how bold she felt. She did care and she couldn’t pretend that she didn’t. However foolish it might be, he did matter to her, more than all theTonput together. The Ton, after all, had never held her when she danced and had never made her feel like she was floating in a magical waltz.
She did care.
She stared out of the window, watching the darkened streets, and tried to recall what Viola had said. The coach rattled through the streets and her heart thudded as they stopped outside Lockwood House.
“Oh, how lovely,” Mama exclaimed as they walked up the stairs. The entrance was lit bright with torches, the chandeliers that had burned so brightly glowing again with a hundred candles—this time, thankfully, three-hour candles, which would burn low by ten o’ clock. At least Lady Lockwood had seemingly considered her need for sleep.
“Very fine,” Papa murmured as they walked in and handed their cloaks and coats to the footman on duty. He took them to store for later and they wandered past to the ballroom. They had arrived early so they could join Lord and Lady Lockwood and Nicholas at the door to greet their guests.
Nicholas was standing in the doorway when they walked in. Bernadette felt her cheeks flare as his blue gaze held hers. He was staring at her, and she blushed furiously, looking at the pillars across the hallway rather than at his face. Why was he staring? Was it because he was pleased to see her, she wondered, or was it because he thought she looked awkward and unfashionable? Was her blue gown so terribly outmoded? She pushed the thoughts away.
Stop it,she told herself firmly. Those thoughts didn’t help. The ballroom was still being prepared and she looked over at the refreshments table where three of the staff were carefully setting out dainty tartlets on trays.
“Good evening, Bernadette,” Nicholas murmured. His voice was warm and low, and its tone sent prickles up her spine.
“Good evening,” she said quietly, struggling to control her emotions. She gazed up at him, all of her emotions mixing into feeling a little angry. He hadn’t tried to explain anything after the ball, and she could have done with an explanation.
“Would you care for some cordial? We needn’t stand here—the guests won’t arrive for a quarter of an hour yet.” His voice was light, gaze warm.
She shook her head. “I’m quite all right,” she replied softly.“I’m happy to stand here and wait. Fifteen minutes is not long.”
“No,” he replied. “No, it’s not.” He sounded disappointed, but that might just have been because he was resigning himself to talking to her all evening. Bernadette shut her eyes, wishing that these horrid, doubtful thoughts would stop whispering in her mind. She couldn’t shut the door on them, and they kept on entering and tormenting her mind.
“Bernadette! Good evening!” Lady Lockwood came over to them, smiling a polished smile. Bernadette felt her soul shrivel inside. Lady Lockwood always made her feel small and worthless, and yesterday at the dress-fitting she had managed to do so even more than usual.
“Good evening,” she whispered.
“So good to see you. And a fetching gown! Such old world charm.”
Bernadette felt nauseated. She looked over at Nicholas, but he was staring out across the room, and she didn’t think he’d heard his grandmother. She held the woman’s gaze, looking her straight in the eye.
“It is to my taste,” she tried to say, but her voice stammered and she withered in that cool, assessing stare.
