by Ayles, Abby
“I think that whether they know me or not they should find me a bore at best and an impudent girl at worst,” Regina admitted. “But mostly I fear they shall find me a small nuisance.”
She did not think she was so bad as all that to mortally offend anyone. No matter what might come flying out of her mouth at a moment’s notice.
Aunt Jane let out a little sigh. “I am afraid I must be with Lady Cora on this one, Regina. You undervalue yourself.”
“So everyone seems determined to keep telling me.”
“And when will you begin to believe it then, hmm?”
When Lord Harrison sees that— Regina cut herself off before the thought could continue.
She had been having the most disturbing thoughts lately in regards to her mentor. She knew, of course, that she would form an attachment to him. He had helped her so much in this time of trials and need.
He had agreed to help her, although it must put himself at risk. He had been kind, a friend to her, someone who bolstered her spirits and comforted her without letting her give into the power of her fears. Of course she should feel something for him.
But this… this was deeper, and it scared her.
It was jealousy, and frustration, and sadness. Such an aching sadness, one that she had never known before.
How could Lord Harrison, she thought, love Bridget when he had only spoken to her a few times? How could he love a woman he hardly knew, and not the woman he knew intimately? They had shared so much time together. Was she not good enough for him?
It scared her that she could be jealous, hoarding her remaining time with Lord Harrison like a dragon clutching at his jewels and gold.
She was jealous of Bridget, even. That horrified her even more. To be jealous of someone who had done her wrong or who she did not know was bad enough. To be jealous of someone who had shown her kindness and friendship was worse. But to be jealous of the woman who had raised Regina as her child? The woman who had often put aside her own desires and needs in order to give to Regina?
It made her feel like a traitor to her sister. First she had all but sold Bridget off like so much property. Now she was jealous of what her sister would have: Lord Harrison.
This could not go on. Regina tried to think of ways that she could dismiss her mentor from her thoughts. It was difficult, when so much time was spent with him.
Lord Harrison seemed determined—no, more than determined. He seemed obsessed with her winning. It was as though he was a jockey and she the horse, and they could see the finish line in sight. Now that it was so close he was pushing her as never before.
It felt as though nothing she did was good enough. Regina came close to crying more than once over it. She steeled herself, though. She was not a child anymore. She couldn’t hide. If she could not handle the man she had come to trust, then how could she handle such sternness from the strangers who would be gathered around the card table?
It was up to her to have a strong backbone. She would not tolerate weakness in herself. If Lord Harrison chose to be a perfectionist about these things then that was up to him. She could understand it, even appreciate it a little. How could he sit back and relax if he was not safe in the knowledge that he had trained her as well as he could and pushed her as far as she could go?
Her limits were tested, again and again. He tried to think of ways to distract her while she was playing. He played in as many different ways as he could, to throw her off.
It wasn’t easy. There were times when she wanted to burst into tears. There were other times still when she wanted to throw down her cards and leave. She wanted to rail at him until he understood how awful he was being.
Could he not see that she was doing her best? Why must he push her so?
But it had to be. She knew that. There was only one chance. Everything hung on this one game. She was never going to be good enough to beat Lord Pettifer unless she was stretched beyond her limits.
Regina was determined not to fail. Cora had to make her sleep and Aunt Jane had to remind her to eat. It felt as though she was no longer existing on earth but in some kind of limbo, an in-between space.
She had to win this. It had always felt real, of course, and some days it had felt more real than others. But now it felt unbearably real. This was her family’s only chance.
The others had all noticed. She could feel them being more gentle with her—well, Cora, Aunt Jane, and Lord Quentin were. Lord Harrison, on the other hand…
It was fair not to expect any mercy from Lord Harrison. She needed to be the best and that was what he was pushing her to be. She had literally asked for this. She couldn’t be angry with him.
Still, it hurt a little. These were their last few days together and it was as though her friend, her mentor, her Oberon, had disappeared. In his place was this other man who pushed her. He was going to help her win the card game, of course he was. But he wasn’t her friend.
It made her sad. She had been hoping for more… Well, she didn’t know what. It was all jumbled up with the strange feelings within her.
Every time she felt that strange urge to reach out and touch him or beg him for—she didn’t even know what—she stamped it down. And yet fear gripped her. Fear at how she must now lose him.
Lose him to Bridget, of all people. And she had orchestrated this. How could she be so upset? She wasn’t losing anything. Lord Harrison had never been hers to begin with.
It was all her fault, really. It was her fault for being a young and foolish girl. She was growing… or she had grown… attached on a deeper level.
Lord Harrison was kind to her. He teased her. He called her his Puck. But all of these could be just as easily interpreted as the kindness of a friend, soon to be brother.
She told herself that she looked forward to having him as her brother. She told herself that worked. That was fine. She could have him in her life and she would be happy for it.
But she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Instead it only made her sadder.
Regina did her best to keep these feelings to herself. It wouldn’t help anyone to share them. How could it? There was nothing that they could do. They couldn’t make this intense sadness and sense of loss go away.
Indeed, to say it out loud would be to make it more real. It would, in fact, give these feelings a name. She did not dare to do that. Giving it a name made it real and making it real gave it a name, a name that she hadn’t wanted, something that had terrified her and only brought sadness to the people she loved.
She did not want that sadness for herself.
She didn’t want to be like Cora. She didn’t want to be like Bridget. She didn’t want to be like Louisa. And she definitely didn’t want to be like her father.
If she said all of her feelings out loud to anyone, they would know. They would say it out loud. They would make it real. And then there would be no denying anymore how she felt. She’d have to accept it.
Perhaps she had grown bolder over the course of this. She was no longer as afraid to speak. Her opinion of herself was no longer quite so low. She now knew that she was intelligent and capable of becoming skilled and respected at something. Even if she never played cards again, not even as a friendly game in her own home, nobody could take that away from her. And she could find other ways to showcase that intelligence and skill.
But there was one way, she realized, in which she was a coward, and that was in the matter of her heart.
She would rather never say anything then talk to someone and risk all of these feelings bubbling up to the surface completely. They would ruin her. They would cut through her heart and destroy her. She’d never felt anything so strong as this pull.
Lord Harrison made her feel safe. He made her feel valued and intelligent. She enjoyed teasing him and being teased in return. She liked just being in his presence. She wanted to go on more walks through the park with him. She wanted to read her way through his library and discuss all of the books with him.
And s
he wanted him for her very own. Not sharing him with a wife. Even if that wife was her beloved Bridget.
It was all she could do not to find a dark corner and sob.
No, she told herself. She wasn’t a child. She wasn’t going to cry and make a fuss over this.
She would handle these feelings with dignity and in silence. The way that Bridget handled the loss of her childhood sweetheart. Regina would be just like that—make it so that no one would suspect how she truly felt.
Perhaps she had been a child about things before but she wasn’t going to be a child now. She was going to carry herself forth with dignity, as an adult would.
To the world, she would appear only as she always had. And to Lord Harrison, to Cora, to the others who knew what time she had been spending with him—she would seem only as a dear friend. A devoted sister.
Nobody needed to know the truth.
Nobody could know the truth. Not even Regina, not really. She couldn’t speak it even to herself.
That way lay ruin.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The day of the masquerade dawned like any other. Regina almost wondered if she didn’t have the date wrong. A part of her had expected the day to dawn with thunderclouds and rain, some sort of signal of the danger and last chance she was throwing herself into.
Instead, however, the day began as usual, with sunlight streaming in through the windows. Regina rose and took breakfast with Aunt Jane.
She didn’t go over to Lord Harrison’s, however. There was no time for a last card game, so much as she might want there to be. She and Aunt Jane had to ride all the way to Lord and Lady Morrison’s, and there she must meet up with her sisters and prepare for the ball.
Cora would take her own carriage to the Morrison lands. She would take with her Regina’s second dress and accessories and have them in her own chambers until the time was right.
The night before, Lord Harrison had stopped her just before she went out the door to return home.
“A few last words,” he had said. The moonlight from the door and the firelight from the grate had warred on his face. The duality had reminded her of their first meeting and how he had taken her outside.
Would she always be partially entranced by him, she had wondered. Would she ever truly know him, know his heart, or would there always be a part of him that was bathed in shadow and unknowable to her?
Not that she had a right to think such things. Regina reminded herself that she was not his bride.
“Tomorrow you will be afraid,” Lord Harrison had told her. “Ah, do not protest. I would be more worried if you were not afraid. It would mean that you are overestimating yourself. It would mean that you were forgetting the importance of what you are doing.
“But I want to remind you that even though you are afraid, you do not have to let it own you. You are capable of doing this. You have the ability to defeat Lord Pettifier. I know that, from the bottom of my soul.
“I do not praise lightly. I’ve tried to avoid praising you, because I have not wanted you to slack off in your work or to fill your head with overconfidence. But I believe in you. And I will be there, even if I cannot help you directly. I will not leave the room, and if things should turn ugly, I will be at your side in an instant. You will be safe.”
Of course she would be safe, she had wanted to say. So long as Lord Harrison was there with her she felt as though she could take on a dragon, because if it looked like the dragon might eat her he’d jump in to help her—even if he wouldn’t interfere until that point.
She appreciated that. She could slay this dragon on her own. Or at least, she hoped that she could.
With Lord Harrison’s encouragement ringing in her ears, she started the day with Aunt Jane. She wouldn’t see him until after she had changed into her second dress with Cora and prepared to enter the card room. She missed him already, like a limb.
She did so hate these ridiculous feelings.
Aunt Jane did not know the full story but she was not an ignorant woman. She knew that something was afoot.
“Are you quite all right, my dear?” She asked. “You seem rather quiet this morning.”
Regina wanted to laugh. She had not realized that she had become talkative. Her sisters would think nothing of her being silent at the breakfast table. In fact, with all of their chatter, they would not even notice. They might not even know if she came down at all.
“This will be my first ball in some time,” Regina answered. “I am nervous for it. Especially since I have promised myself and Lady Cora to try out being more social and seeing where that shall lead.”
“I think that you will find yourself surprised at your own abilities,” Aunt Jane replied.
They ate, retired to change and to pack, and then were loaded up into their carriage to begin the journey.
Regina had to admit that her thoughts were somewhere other than the rolling hills and green woods that they passed through. It was all rather lovely and at any other time she would have enjoyed it. The peace and quiet and the view were all together quite something. She could see why poets waxed poetic about the English countryside.
And yet, she almost couldn’t see any of it. She kept picturing in her mind’s eye all the times she had seen Lord Harrison. It was as if, after this, she would not be allowed to daydream on him, and so she must get it all done at once.
“You seem rather distracted,” Aunt Jane noted.
Regina could not offer up an explanation. Fortunately she did not need to, for Aunt Jane continued to speak.
“You know, my poor husband—may he rest in peace—had quite a time of it in wooing me.”
“Oh?” Regina asked. She was not sure where this direction of conversation was going, but she did owe Aunt Jane much. The woman had let her into her home and had allowed Regina to spend time with a man with an escort that Aunt Jane hardly knew. It was skirting propriety, and yet Aunt Jane had never complained.
“Yes. Harold—for that was his name—Harold had to practically fling himself at my feet to show me that he cared for me. When he proposed, most ladies would see that as a sign of affection. Men generally care for their wives when they choose them, even if they are not passionately in love with them.
“But that was not enough for me. I was convinced that he had proposed because of my good breeding and my looks. It honestly did not occur to me that he should choose me because he had fallen in love with me. What was I? I thought.
“In my mind, you see, I was a poor imitation of a proper woman. I had never been good at needlepoint or the piano. I could not draw. I loved to dance but I fear I was not very good at it.
“And I did not have the habit of conversing easily with those I did not know. I learned, in time, but that was later. At the time of his proposal I was quite inadequate at the dinner table for talk.
“Yet, somehow, he loved me. He had seen things in me that I did not see even in myself. I loved him, of course. He was so handsome. Do not tell my daughter this but she takes her good looks from him. She has always been convinced that she looks after me and I cannot bring myself to tell her that her father was always more handsome than I.
“But in any case. I did love him. He was gentle and kind, witty, and excellent at riding and dancing. I couldn’t fathom that a man such as that could love me in return. I resigned myself, therefore, to simply be content to be his wife and to have him near me, even if I did not have his love.
“And you know, the man seemed determined to prove me wrong. He would arrange for my favorite flowers to be sent to me. He would purchase me gifts when he went out, little ribbons and baubles and such. He consulted me about all matters and seemed to truly value my opinion. When he was away he would write me such long letters—the whole bundle of them seemed to weigh a pound!
“After about a year of this, my poor suffering husband came home, and presents me with this beautiful pearl necklace. I was quite astonished, for I knew that it must have cost him dear and should make me quite the
envy of all the ladies at the next ball.
“I burst into tears.” Aunt Jane chuckled at herself, shaking her head. “You see my father was a good man in many respects but he was not faithful to my mother. Oh, we all knew it, though no one spoke of it. Every time he broke one of his marriage vows he would gift her with some truly astonishing jewelry. It was his way of absolving his guilt.
“So when my Harold brought me the necklace, I was sure that it meant he had strayed. I could not bear it, for though I knew he did not return my love I had also thought that he was a good man who would stay faithful.
“The idea of him betraying our marriage broke me, and I simply cried my eyes out. The poor man was so confused! He asked if I did not like pearls, if I was with child and therefore temperamental, if I was sick and needed care.
“Finally I got round to telling him why I was so upset. You should have seen his face!” Aunt Jane laughed heartily. “I had never seen the man more surprised!”
Aunt Jane sobered up. “More than that, though, my dear, he was appalled. I could see it in his eyes.
“He knelt before me and took my hand. I shall never forget that moment. He looked at me—and for the first time I saw it. I suppose that he had been looking at me like that the entire time but I hadn’t seen it until that moment.
“He looked up at me and said, ‘Darling’. He called me that you know but I had never heard it with such reverence. ‘Darling’, he said, ‘How is it that you can doubt my utter devotion to you?’
“I responded that his devotion to a wife he did not love must naturally be suspect. A man’s loyalty to a wife he loves is one thing. Loyalty to a woman he has married for the sanctity of marriage, a wife he respects well enough but does not love—what can be expected of him then?
“My husband was appalled, and rightly so. I don’t think it had occurred to him in that moment that I did not know that he loved me. I had certainly never voiced my thoughts aloud. It was not my place and it was, or so I supposed, so obvious that there was no point in speaking of it.
