Chapter 19

A sweet, soaring melody wove through the room, mixing with the delicate sound of glass tinkling on glass and the refined murmur of voices and laughter. Bernadette stood in the corner of the room, feeling utterly confused.

The feeling of Nicholas' hand on hers burned along her veins, each fingerprint feeling as though the press of his fingers lingered there. The feeling was even stronger on her shoulder-blade, where he had pressed to draw her close. The waltz, its sweet intimacy, made her heart race. Her brow creased as she recalled it and glanced across at Nicholas.

He stood with his grandmother talking to a woman of around his mother's age. The two of them had been standing with Lady Lockwood for around ten minutes. Clearly, the woman and Lady Lockwood were well acquainted, to judge from their nods and smiles and laughter, but Nicholas seemed unhappy. His posture was tense, his head bent forward as though he strained to catch the lady's words. She frowned, wondering what was troubling him.

While she stared across at them, a younger woman approached the group—Bernadette recognized her from when they had been standing by the door. She was around Nicholas' age, perhaps a little younger, and she had pale curls and a curvaceous figure. She wore a cream-colored gown patterned with brilliants that sparkled when she moved. Her gestures were refined and elegant, her laughter scintillating and bright.

She's beautiful. She's a society beauty, fashionable and well-thought-of.

Bernadette felt her heart twist. For the longest time, she'd wished to be like the woman talking to Nicholas. Pretty, elegant, and graceful. She'd longed to draw people's eyes the way that woman did, so effortlessly. She was refined and lovely and Bernadette felt her heart ache.

He'll notice how plain and clumsy I am, she thought sadly.

Lady Lockwood was beaming—even from across the room, it was possible to see her evident happiness. Nicholas still didn't look happy, but he was standing talking to them and Bernadette turned away, heart twisting painfully.

She couldn't bear to watch him conversing so effortlessly with a high society beauty.

"Bernadette?" A voice spoke behind her, making her turn around. She blinked in surprise, seeing Lady Aldford there. Clarissa and Marcia were nearby, chatting with some guests of around their own age. Bernadette felt relief flood her. She felt better having at least one person who she knew and trusted at the ball.

"Lady Aldford," she murmured, relieved. "Can I help you with something?" The lady had an inquiring look on her face, those blue eyes—almost an identical blue to Nicholas'--creased at the edges with a small quizzical frown.

"No," Lady Aldford said with a smile. "Not at all. I just thought I'd come to greet you. I hardly had a second to talk with you earlier. You look very pretty."

"Thank you," Bernadette murmured. She felt her throat tighten with an awkward, shamed feeling as she gazed at her blue gown. She'd felt so proud of it, so pretty in the fine dark blue silk. But a dress couldn't make her less awkward, less terrible at witty conversation. All of her mother's chiding flooded back.

A dress can't do all the work for you. You're a timid mouse.

She blinked back tears.

"My dear?" Lady Aldford murmured. "Why, whatever is the matter? Are you feeling unwell?"

"A little," Bernadette confided, struggling to keep her voice from showing her deep emotion. "I need to go outside. It's very hot in here." She fanned herself, though the ballroom was not unpleasantly hot. It was a large room and it accommodated them all without seeming to be too hot.

"Of course, my dear," Lady Aldford replied softly. "I'll walk with you, if you like?" She glanced over at Marcia and Clarissa, a frown creasing her brow as though she was hesitant to leave them on their own in the crowded ballroom. Bernadette shook her head.

"Thank you, Lady Aldford, but I'll be quite all right. I just need a minute." She turned around and hurried across the ballroom to the doors at the back.

She paused in the doorway. Lady Lockwood was still laughing with the two guests, and Nicholas was still standing there. Her heart sank. He was paying more heed to the woman in the white gown than he had to her. She swallowed hard, all her shame flooding back, covering her like a cloak. Just seeing that woman reminded her of all the cruel things she believed about herself.

I'm a timid mouse. I'm uninteresting and graceless and nobody is going to look twice.

She walked out onto the terrace and tensed instantly. There were people out there, the murmur of talk soft around her, the scent of perfume in the air teasing the senses. She walked quickly to the rail and turned away, the darkened garden calming her. A stream ran somewhere, or perhaps it was a fountain, the babbling sound of water soothing on the cool night air. The smell of dew was sweet and fresh, better than the cloying perfumes and pomades of the hall. There was no noise outside except for the water and the distant background of talk and laughter.

I should just stay here, she told herself firmly. I don't belong in the ballroom there.

The terrace was safe and familiar, far away from the stylish guests.

"Ah! Miss Rowland!"

She whipped round as Lord Lockwood greeted her. Her heart thudded, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. She had not spoken with him since she met Nicholas and even then, she'd been a little overawed.

"Good evening," she greeted him, dropping a deep curtsey.

"Good evening," he replied lightly. "Capital evening, eh? Candles, music, refreshments...Agatha's managed it all damnably well. Excuse my language." He didn't seem overly apologetic, despite his words, and Bernadette drew a breath.

"I think..." she began, wanting to excuse herself, but he interrupted.

"You're needed in the ballroom. Nicholas has done a dance without you; so, you need to do the next one. Keep people watching."

Bernadette stared at him. "I'm sorry?" she asked, utterly confused by his words.

"Nicholas. Just had a dance with Lady Emily. Best come in now, eh? There's a sensible girl."

Bernadette hadn't meant to step towards the ballroom door, but the earl evidently thought she was going that way because he stood back, and she had to enter in front of him or it would seem rude.

She entered the ballroom and stopped in the doorway, looking around. She couldn't spot Nicholas anywhere. Lady Lockwood was talking with a small group of men and women in somber colors. The young woman in the sparkling dress was no longer anywhere to be seen.

Nicholas danced with her.

She knew it without Lord Lockwood having to say. Lady Emily. That was her name—she recalled standing at the door earlier, hearing the butler announcing her and her mother as they arrived.

Nicholas, she thought desperately. You really do prefer her to me, don't you? She hadn't been imagining it.

She felt nauseous and looked around for a chair. Spotting one near the refreshments table, she hurried over and sat down. A group of older women stood nearby, their laughter and talk grating on her nerves. Her back stiff and tense, her gaze moved unseeing over the revelry on the dance floor.

"Bernadette? Bernadette?" A familiar voice called from behind. She spun round. Nicholas was there, hurrying towards her. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright. "There you are! I was looking for you."

"I went outside," Bernadette said tightly. She stood up. He smiled, but she felt instantly guarded. He looked pleased, and she wondered why. Had he enjoyed the time with Lady Emily?

"It's hot, I know," he said with a grimace. "I'm sorry. Would you like some lemonade? Grandmother's kitchen is famous for its lemonade."

You're just trying to please me, she thought, pain lancing through her. You must think I'm like an awkward child if I can be pleased with a glass of lemonade.

She looked up at him, her gaze as cold as she could make it. He blinked, confusedly.

"I don't need any lemonade, thank you," she said tightly. "It's cool outside and I feel much better."

She looked around the room, wishing that someone she knew was nearby so she could talk to them. It felt so awkward talking to him.

"I'm glad," he said softly. "Would you like to take the air? The garden is small, but fine too." His brow creased with a worried frown.

"I'd prefer to remain inside," she said primly. Nicholas shrugged, though he looked uneasy.

"As you wish. Are you sure you wouldn't care for something to drink? Or to eat?" He glanced over at the refreshments table. Bernadette shook her head.

"I'm quite well provided for," she said thinly. "I am pleased to be able to sit for a few minutes." She gestured to the chair, where she'd been sitting when he came to join her. He inclined his head, seeming confused.

"If you will sit for a while, of course; please do. I will join you," he said, coming to stand beside the chair. Bernadette tried not to glare at him.

"It's quite all right," she said, unable to conceal her hurt. "I'm quite happy to sit here by myself. You should find someone else to talk to." She wanted to add, "someone more appropriate", but she didn't wish to raise the topic where so many eyes could watch them.

"Well..." Nicholas stammered. "I thought that I..." He paused and Bernadette saw him wipe his hands on his jacket as if he was nervous. "I mean...If you want to sit here and be quiet, that's different."

"I wish to rest for a moment," Bernadette said, heart twisting. She wished she could talk to him, could explain what she meant. But it wasn't possible, not in front of so many people. And besides, she didn't fully understand her mood herself. All she knew was that she was hurt too. Hurt, angry, and dismayed. It was quite reasonable for her to sit and be quiet.

"As you wish," he said slowly. He stood beside the chair for a moment or two, but Bernadette sat staring out over the ballroom as if she was observing the guests, not looking over at him where he stood beside her. After a second or two, he turned around and walked towards the refreshments table.

Bernadette turned to look, then stared the other way. She could ignore him, just like he could ignore her. She glanced around, almost wishing that she could dance with someone like he had. The woman in the sparkly gown—Lady Emily—was dancing with Lord Overham now and Bernadette looked over to where Nicholas stood at the table, but he was talking to a man of about his own age and his back was to the dance floor.

Maybe he'd be upset too, she thought moodily.

She sat and watched the guests, her heart aching. He had seemed as though he wanted to talk, but perhaps he just felt guilty. Doubt gnawed at her, grown large and sated on the words that Mama had poured into her ears.

Uninteresting mouse. Clumsy. Timid.

She swallowed hard, her throat tight and sore. She wanted to sob, but it wasn't possible because there were guests everywhere and she knew they were watching. She glanced around, searching for someone she knew. She couldn't spot Lady Aldford or Lord Aldford and their daughters. The other guests were unknown to her. Lady Lockwood hadn't asked her if there was anyone she wanted to invite, or she'd have invited Viola, but the guests were not of her choice.

Her heart aching, eyes blurring, she stood up and walked as swiftly as she could to the terrace. There, at least she might find a corner to stand by herself without people staring. There, they couldn't see if she cried. She held her breath and tried not to sob and stared out at the garden and wondered how she was going to remain at the ball a second longer.