She Walks in Beauty (46 page)

Except for him.

“He sold you out.” Harry’s accusation was more accurate than he knew.

“He did. But I knew he would. Especially that night.”

Harry’s eyes shrunk to slits. “You did?”

“Yes.”

“So … that night. … at the Patriarch’s Ball … ?”

“Was to confirm what I had already suspected.”

He nodded. Then he took a great breath and squared his shoulders. “Well … it confirmed something that I had already suspected too.”

I knew what he was going to say, for how could he have failed to feel what I had felt? Even if he had already given his heart to Lizzie. Of course, he would be disappointed in those hopes, but that didn’t mean he should fix them upon me. Not now. Not when I had discovered my father’s treacheries. And besides, I didn’t want to be anybody’s second choice; I wanted true love. On both sides of a marriage. So I stopped him before he could make a promise he shouldn’t be allowed to keep. “Don’t say it, Harry.”

“Why not?”

Why not? “What good would it do? Especially now? Or don’t you know about my father?”

“I know he had you for his daughter.”

“He wasn’t a good man.”

“And what has that to do with you?”

Such kindness, such love, glowed in his eyes. And yet I could not accept them. They weren’t meant for me. And even if they were, I didn’t deserve them. “I’m trying to do what’s right, Harry. Help me to do what’s right.” I turned my back on him and began to shut the door.

But he stopped it with his hand.

“Harry—!” I could not hold myself together if he did not leave. Why could he not understand that?

“I just wanted you to know. I’m going back. I’m going abroad.”

I smiled then. Mostly from relief. If he removed himself from the city, then I would not have to think of him. “I’m glad.”

“I just wanted … I wanted … to let you know. I wish you could go.” His eyes were asking all kinds of questions that I knew I did not have the right to answer. Not any longer.

“Good-bye, Harry.”

Aunt warmed quickly to the idea of retiring to the ocean. She even invited me to come live with her. I told her I would consider it. But I knew that she, like Father, had invested everything in the success of my debut. There may have been enough money for her to live comfortably, but to add me to her expenses would only have caused both of us to worry. And so I took out Julia’s recent letter and began to write a response.

Dearest Julia,

Please do not think that you offended any of my sensibilities. Father is dead. I have none left. If you think there is still a chance of securing a position with Miss Thompson, I urge you to recommend me to her with all speed. Aunt is soon to take a house on her own. I find myself without

Without anything at all.

I sighed and reread what I had written. Then I took up my pen once more to continue.

any reason to stay in this city. As you know, I have always longed to travel abroad. Please assure Miss Thompson of my good sense and my reliability, and if you can find it within you, please remember me also to your kind self.

Clara

I may be reached here at home until September. I do not wish to presume upon the kindness of Mr. De Vries any longer.

“Psst. Clara!”

I had been taking a turn about the garden, reveling in the peace the place provided. I could not go out in public, not while I was in deep mourning, but I had not expected the public to find me here. In my own garden. I was no longer the stunning Miss Clara Carter. I was the disgraced daughter of the charlatan Dr. Carter.

“Clara!”

I peered into the hedge, trying to discern from where the voice was coming.

A moment later, Lizzie’s figure, clad in green velvet, pushed through the branches. Her hat had been knocked askew and stray leaves clung to her curls. But she was in high spirits. I could tell from the bloom on her cheeks. “He proposed!”

“Congratulations.”

“I accepted.”

“Of course you did.”

She stepped close and clasped my hand with her own, glancing over at the house as she did so. “But not without some consideration.” She glanced over at the house again. Then she turned me away from it and walked me a few steps toward the hedge through which she had come. “He made me a most ungentlemanly proposition!”

“Did he?”

“Yes! And I will never speak of it again, except to say that I would never have cheated on you, dear Clara, in that way. I just wanted you to know.”

“Does it not … worry you?”

“Why?” Her brows drew together for a moment, but then her forehead cleared. “Oh. Oh! No. Why would he marry what he could get just by the asking? And I seem to have acquired some sort of allure since then. Since refusing him.” She giggled. “It’s quite amusing.” Then she sighed and squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry about your father. I feel as if … rather like … I feel as if I won Franklin unfairly.”

I dropped her hand and embraced her. Hard. “No, Lizzie. You won him honestly. And I’m happy for you.”

“Are you? Truly?”

“I am. Truly.”

“Then that makes me even more happy. But the wedding is only six months from now. And you’ll still be in mourning.”

“I will.” Though we had always planned to be each other’s bridesmaids, I was happy not to have to attend her. The simple fact was that I did not deserve to.

“I’ll miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you.”

She hugged me. Kissed my cheek. “I’ll be thinking of you. On that day.”

“I hope not.”

She giggled. Hugged me again. And then she started off for the hedge. “I have to go plan my trousseau.”

“Don’t let anyone catch you.”

“They would mob me! And they all ask after the legendary and reclusive Miss Carter. Did you know that’s how
The Tattler
referred to you?”

“No.”

“Yes!” She paused and held up a finger. “He said, and I quote, ‘Society will be the less for having lost the singular beauty of the legendary and reclusive Miss Carter.’ He actually referred to you by name that time! ‘There is more than one soul, and more than one gentleman, the better for having known her. She has graced both our ballrooms and our hearts. Her style captivated us in a way not seen in this city for many years. Farewell, Miss Carter, and may fortune smile upon you.’ Wasn’t that nice?”

More than she knew.

And much more than I deserved.

42

I COULDN’T SLEP. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t even read. I had left poor Byron who knew where, but I no longer had any interest in finding him. There was no time for true love—there were too many other things to be taken care of. We could not long afford to remain in the house. Without Father generating money, in ways both respectable and not, we had no income. And he had kept no savings.

We had let the servants go, one by one, until at last there was only the cook. It was I who filled the coal scuttles and cleared the table, made the beds and swept the carpets. It was I who did the laundry and took our clothes out back to dry.

By the beginning of August, not even Aunt could deny the obvious. No one had come to rescue us. When our six-month period of deep mourning ended, we would have to rescue ourselves. I had secured myself a position with Julia’s spinster. A train ticket had been sent so that I could go to Boston to meet her in September. I would stay with her there until the time came, in spring, to leave for the Continent. And Aunt? Though she had taken to the idea of retiring to the sea, she had not yet made any plans to move there.

One day late in the month, as I joined her for breakfast, she broke her silence. “I have asked the man at the auction house to call. To ascertain the value of what has been left us.”

I felt my brow raise.

“He’s to come at half past ten.”

I made sure that I was done with the fires, had dusted the parlor, and had made myself presentable by that time.

The man was short and balding. He went through the house, pencil in hand,
tsk
ing and frowning. He only seemed to take an interest in several things. One was the card receiver. The other was the hallstand. “Very nice pieces.”

Aunt took up a position right beside them. “They are not for sale.”

“If they were, I could command quite a high price for them.”

“They are not for sale.” She turned from him, toward me. “If I were to show up at the shore without a hallstand, people might think me somehow … reduced . . .”

“But, Aunt, I hardly think a hallstand of this size would fit in a—”

“I will not have people thinking that I’ve become—that I’ve been—!”

When Aunt moved to show the man my father’s library of books, I left them for more important work. There was mending to be done and a table to be laid for dinner.

That night I served us boiled eggs and herrings. With toast. Then I took my seat opposite Aunt.

She looked up from her plate toward me. “The man will send his carters on Wednesday.”

“What does he expect to get from the sale?” There were very few things that I needed, but a few new gowns were among them. I couldn’t very well assume my new position dressed in the clothes of a young girl. The gowns from my debut no longer fit, and I wouldn’t lift any aged woman’s spirits dressed in unrelieved black.

Aunt sniffed. “He said he would advertise in the
Journal
. I’m sure his expectations are well below what the sale will bring. He didn’t seem to know an ice-cream fork from a lemon fork.”

“But did he tell you what he expects to receive?”

“No. He will send his final estimate with the carters. On Wednesday.”

We finished the rest of our meal in silence, dining by the light of our few remaining candles. The food looked more appealing in the candlelight. It cast a much warmer glow than the gaslights. But it was not for nostalgia’s sake that we had done it. I had asked for the gas lines to be turned off. We could no longer afford that luxury.