Chapter 22

Bernadette stood in her bedchamber, heart thudding with nerves. Judy stood opposite her, a frown at her brow.

"How can she? It's entirely wrong," Bernadette argued feeling aggrieved.

"I don't know, milady. All I know is that your best blue gown has just been aired. You can use it tonight."

"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 the strength.

"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 the Ton as 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 the Ton was 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 the Ton put 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.

"Nicholas! Come on," Lady Lockwood said, ignoring her. "It's five minutes before the guests arrive. Come and join us."

Nicholas blinked as if he'd been lost in thought and wordlessly inclined his head to his grandmother, following her to the door. Bernadette stood beside him, cheeks burning, shaking with a mix of rage and nerves.

In a few minutes, a substantial portion of the Ton would be there, and she would feel judged and ashamed.

The doors were open and, before she expected him to, the butler cleared his throat and started announcing people. Bernadette curtseyed and smiled and did all she was expected to do, then stiffened as she saw some familiar faces. First was Lord Overham, and then behind him was the woman she'd wished never to see again.

"Why! How lovely," Lady Emily murmured, curtseying to her. "And my best wishes for the day after tomorrow, of course. Best wishes to you both."

Her voice was sweet and refined and Bernadette looked at her firmly. She could spot no dissemblance in her expression, but something about Lady Emily and her gaze troubled her. She didn't look pleased, but she didn't look neutral either. There was a look there she couldn't interpret. It was conniving, somehow, cunning, and she didn't understand it.

"Thank you," she said, hoping that the woman would say nothing else.

Lady Alverton, her mother, greeted her next, all politeness and brief, correct curtseying, and then the two moved into the ballroom. Bernadette felt her stomach twist with nerves and distaste. Something about those women bothered her. She looked over at Lady Lockwood, who had clearly invited the pair of them, but she wasn't looking in her direction and she heard more guests coming and so she turned around.

The guest-list was not as exhaustive as it had been the previous evening, and soon the butler was walking into the room from his position near the stairs, the great doors closed. Bernadette glanced up at Nicholas. He was pale and she felt her insides twist.

She wondered what he might be thinking.

"That's a relief," he murmured neutrally. "Are you sure you wouldn't like some cordial? It's getting hot already." He lifted a hand to his cravat theatrically.

"No, I'm quite well, thank you," Bernadette murmured. "Unless you wish to fetch some?" She glanced over at the table. Lady Emily was somewhere down there. Perhaps he wanted to find her.

He frowned. "Not particularly," he said, then his frown deepened. "I apologise," he said softly.

"For what?" Bernadette asked, looking at him coolly.

"For my absence in the last two days. Grandfather has been keeping me busy. Investments and finances." He made a face.

"I see," Bernadette murmured. She looked up at him, looking for signs that he was telling the truth. He looked uncomfortable, his glance moving from her to the ballroom and back and he seemed distressed. Perhaps he was itching to get away from her, to spend time with a lady of refinement and elegance before being shackled to a graceless one. She swallowed hard.

"I had hoped to see you." His eyes wandered, not looking at her, and she swallowed again.

"There always seems to be an occasion planned where we'll see each other." She hoped he could hear the anger in her tone. He shrugged.

"Yes. Very true." He didn't even sound as though he'd heard her. She felt her heart twist. She was used to being overlooked. He was doing exactly that, and it hurt as much as it had weeks ago at her first ball.

"I will go and fetch some cordial," she said tightly, trying not to show how close to weeping she was. He blinked, seeming confused.

"You're thirsty?" he asked.

"It is getting hot, as you say," she said crisply, glancing about. Mama and Papa were over by the doors. Lady Lockwood was standing near them.

"Well, then." He spoke neutrally. "I hope to speak to you later this evening. Outside by the pavilion, perhaps? Meet me there within half an hour."

Bernadette blinked at him in utter confusion. Without saying another word, he turned and walked across the room. She watched him and stood near the stairs, trying to fathom what exactly had possessed him.

Still confused, she walked haphazardly to the refreshments table, not even seeing where she went, her eyes glossy and her heart twisting with confused pain.