She Walks in Beauty (42 page)

Had I trials and temptations?

What a Friend We Have in Jesus!

Was I unsure about the right thing to do?

He Leadeth Me: O Blessed Thought!

A song for every experience, a melody in answer to every question. Every question but this: Did God truly love me? Just as I was?

The first day of March. The final Patriarch’s Ball. It was to the De Vrieses’ generosity that I owed my invitation. But I could not muster any energy to anticipate it. For in the end, all the sounds and the fury of high society dances and parties and balls had signified nothing. I had reaped only the wind. And I would leave all of it behind me this night. But not before doing one last thing.

Among the web of extortion and deceit that Father had woven this season, there had been one deceit greater still. And I had to make it known that I knew. I had to assure myself of the identity of The Tattler. I wanted to know, without doubt, who had tried to derail my efforts. But more than that, I wanted to know why.

The problem was that I needed to use Harry to obtain that knowledge.

But Harry was the least of my worries. Just as, it seemed, I was the least of his. He cared about Lizzie far more than he cared about me. I had never deserved his time and attentions. But it would make my future easier to accept. After this night, there would be no connections left to the life to which I had aspired.

In my more honest moments, I recognized that I mourned what I thought I had discovered in Harry. Friend, confidant … my soul’s true companion. But Aunt and Father would never have allowed me the freedom to pursue him. And clearly, his heart was bent in another’s direction. He probably mourned for Lizzie the same way that I mourned for him. Harry was as unattainable, as distant as a star. If nothing else, my actions this night would prove it to me once for all.

They would also erase Aunt’s hopes of securing a marriage for me. And then perhaps, once this night was over, I would be able to make one choice for myself. I didn’t know yet what that choice would be, but surely there would be something left me to do. Left me to become. Just in case, I whispered a prayer. I prayed that if God truly cared for me, just as I was, that He would make a path for me. Because there would be no undoing what I was about to do.

I screwed Mother’s amethysts onto my earlobes and took one last look in the mirror. How far I had come. There was no hint left of the quiet, timid girl I once had been. But who was the woman that looked back at me in the mirror? And what would become of her after this night?

I wished her well. And then I went downstairs to join Aunt.

“You know how important this night is.”

“I do.” More important than she would ever know.

Aunt poked at the tulle on my bodice. Bent to rearrange a bow on my skirt. “There must be a proposal. And I cannot overstate how important it is that it happens this night.”

“I know.”

“You look so pale. Pinch your cheeks.”

The evening began at the opera, followed by the ball at Delmonico’s at midnight. Everything at Delmonico’s seemed keyed to a fevered pitch. Laughter was calibrated to a higher timbre. The music played at a louder volume. People seemed more exuberant, more free.

My dance card filled quickly. Franklin’s name was not among those of my partners, but Harry’s was. He had reserved two dances for himself. The first was a lancers. In previous weeks I would have been happy to have danced it with him, oblivious to the steps and patterns, only concentrating on our conversation. But it seemed this night that there was nothing left to say.

He returned to my side after intermission for his second dance and led me away from Aunt onto the dance floor. Taking up my hand in one of his, he put his other to my back, but then, as I raised a hand to his arm, he stepped away. “Do you want … ? I mean … I don’t feel like dancing.”

“Then what do you want to do?”

“Would you accompany me outside? Into the hall?”

Just the opportunity I had been seeking! I searched the ballroom before answering. It was imperative that I locate Mr. Douglas. And Aunt. He must see us leaving. And she must not. Ah—there he was! Just several groups down from me, listening to another gentleman talk, though his eyes were on Katherine. And … there Aunt was, looking about the ballroom with a watchful eye.

“Clara?”

“Of course. Perhaps … should we go this way?” I made a point of walking past Mr. Douglas. Saw him raise a brow. And well he should have. I was walking directly toward the exit, making no secret of my intention to leave the ballroom. And I was escorted by one who could be considered a suitor.

The orchestra started to play and the strains of a waltz followed us.

I turned to take up Harry’s hand in my own, but he was still lingering in the door. Hurry! I had only the time of a waltz to do what I had to do. I tried to smile, but then turned to speech when that failed to move him from the door. “Harry?”

“You are so … beautiful.”

I could not keep myself from blushing, but it didn’t matter. The relative darkness of the hall hid my shame.

“Do you know Byron?”

I nodded.

“There is a poem he wrote that I think was meant for you.” Finally, he had left the door. He walked toward me in silence.

“Do you wish to share it?”

“Hmm? What?”

“The poem?”

“Oh—yes! Let me see if I can remember it. It starts . . .” He closed his eyes and lifted his head toward the ceiling as if it might help him to remember. Then he opened his eyes and looked straight at me. “It begins, ‘She walks in beauty like the night—’”

Oh, Harry. “‘Of cloudless climes and starry skies’ … it’s my favorite.”

“I’ve never really cared for it. For any of his poetry. He’s much too maudlin.”

“Oh.”

“You look distraught. Have I said something? Of course I’ve said something. I always say something. The wrong thing. And you had just said that poem was your favorite. So.” He bowed, clearly by way of an apology. “Why do you like him?”

“Byron? He was my mother’s favorite poet.”

“Well, then. I have no criticism to offer up against that. And I must say that his lines perfectly describe you. ‘. . . cloudless climes and starry skies and all that’s best of dark and light meet in her aspect and her eyes.’” Harry’s voice had grown soft. And serious. “It’s almost as if he had known you. ‘And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, so soft, so calm, yet eloquent … a mind at peace with all below, a heart whose love is innocent!’”

Oh no, he had not known me at all. And neither had Harry.

The waltz was half done. I had to accomplish what I had set out to do. And so, I smiled. Took his hand and pulled him farther away from the crowds. “Mother had a book of his, of poems, that he had signed.”

“To her? Didn’t he die … ages ago?”

“It was to her father, really, but it’s mine now. The only legacy she left me.” I’d been given her jewels, of course, but it was only within the pages of the book that I could sense her soul.

“And you love it most because it was your mother’s.”

He had understood exactly. He always understood exactly.

“But do you truly like Byron? On his own? For himself?”

“Oh, yes!”

He was shaking his head as if he couldn’t account for my opinion. “Why? I’ve never understood his allure.”

“Because he writes of love. Of true love. A love worth waiting for.”

“A love that you’re waiting for?”

How had we come to speak of love! I had tried to tell myself that Harry did not matter. That he did not think of me with any sort of affection … he had told Franklin that himself! But then why was he looking at me that way? And why did his eyes hold such sweet promise?

“Clara?”

I put up a hand to hide my mouth from him. “Harry?”

He reached out and took my hand within his own. “Why do you always talk like that? With a hand in front of your mouth?”

“Because it’s too large.” And I could not remember to think of peas and prunes and prisms.

“Who told you that?”

“My aunt.”

“And what else has she told you?”

“That I’m much too tall.”

“Has she?”

“Yes.” I said it in a whisper because Harry had come so very close and his lips were hovering just above mine.

“I’m afraid that … I might just … kiss you. If that’s all right.”

“Oh, Harry . . .” What a strange sensation, to feel Harry’s lips upon mine. So warm and gentle and giving. Especially when Franklin’s had been so hard and urgent and demanding.

He broke away with a sigh. Placed a hand to either side of my neck and stared at me for a long moment … just stood there looking deeply into my eyes. And then he slid his hands down to my shoulders and clasped me to himself. “It seems just fine to me.” The words were whispered into my ear.

“What does?”

“Your mouth. And you. You’re perfect just the way you are.” He loosed me and kissed me once more.

Oh, Harry, I had not known! The kiss, his kiss, was so full of assurance and absolute certainty that it made me wonder if I had been wrong. About everything. Harry’s kiss was not about questions, and not about persuasion—it was about answers and convictions. I forgot to notice whether Mr. Douglas had followed us. I had forgotten about The Tattler. And most of all, I had forgotten that Harry was supposed to be in love with Lizzie. I ran from the hall with the feel of it still on my lips, passing Mr. Douglas on the way.

It was there the next day in the papers for all to read.

I may have discovered the identity of The Tattler, but I had also guaranteed that no one in polite society would ever speak to me again. How could they when I had been discovered kissing someone at Delmonico’s? Kissing a man who was the brother of the person everyone had assumed I would marry?

Aunt didn’t come out of her room that day.

That evening I wandered into the kitchen when the cook wasn’t looking and I took her sharpest knife and a firm green apple. Concealing them within the folds of my skirt, I went back upstairs.

Once I had gained the privacy of my room, I shed my gown, my corset cover, my petticoats, and hoops. Then I applied the knife to the bottom of my corset and, with a great deal of sawing and much effort, I freed myself from it. Let it drop in tatters to the floor at my feet. Pulled the chemise off as well.