Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

J osiah was distracted, and it was beginning to affect his work. He stared listlessly out the window of the hired carriage, his thoughts impossible to organise. He ought to be happy; he ought to be thrilled , really: Ever since the Duke's ball, he'd had more requests for lessons than he knew what to do with. He would need to hire another teacher, and soon. He'd considered asking Beatrice, but he'd made that mistake once before—it had not ended well.

If things continued in this manner, he would be able to retire comfortably whenever he wished. In reality, he could hire and train competent teachers, and then he could journey the Continent again, rediscovering his love for dance…

And why do you need to rediscover it, exactly? a shrewd part of his mind demanded.

It was a fair question, but one that Josiah was loathe to answer. Dancing lately had felt like the means to an end, at best: It was how he kept himself fed and paid his rent, and kept his troupe employed. There was no art, no higher purpose to it anymore. He rose, breakfasted, dressed, taught the rich ladies and gentlemen their steps, and went home, ad nauseum . He may as well have been back with his boyhood tutor, copying out Latin verses for hours on end. He couldn't remember the last time that his heart had leapt for joy when he took to the dancefloor.

Liar , his mind whispered, which made Josiah scowl at his reflection in the carriage window.

It was a lie. He knew precisely when he had last been happy while dancing, when he'd last felt inspired . He could see it every time he closed his eyes, every night when he tried to sleep. Eva was always there with him, just out of sight, but never out of mind. Sometimes Josiah fancied that if he turned fast enough, he might see her better; if he held his arms out, she might twirl into them.

There was nothing to be done about it, was the worst part of it all. He had heard that Lady Eva was well and truly engaged from the more gossip-inclined of his clients. There was some confusion about the match, which always made Josiah snort derisively. It was also not particularly understood why it had not been formally announced yet, no notice given in the newspapers. Josiah suspected the delay was to give Lady Stanton more time to wrangle a more favourable marriage settlement.

None of it was surprising, except perhaps that Lady Eva went along with the whole unscrupulous business. It seemed so out of her character, but then, perhaps Josiah hadn't really known her.

The carriage bumped along, it being necessary for them to pass through a not particularly salubrious part of town to reach their destination at the fringes of London. The streets out here were not well-maintained, and the carriage jolted each time the wheels found a rut. Josiah placed one hand on the roof of the carriage, the other on the bench next to him in order to attempt to stabilise himself.

It occurred to him that he was completely alone, no students, no junior dancers looking at him expectantly, no Beatrice eyeing him as if he were a prime joint of meat to be snatched up… Despite the bumpy terrain and the noise from outside, the carriage was insular and quiet, close, even. Josiah couldn't help but be reminded of the confessionals he had been marched to as a child in Paris. He couldn't remember much of them, only that it, too, had been dark and quiet within. He could say anything that he wished to in this carriage, in this moment, and no one would ever be any wiser.

Taking a deep breath, he braced himself, as if he were about to plunge into a pool of icy water. "It should have been me," he said, quietly but with conviction. "I should have… I should be the one marrying Eva."

Instantly, it was like a weight had lifted from his chest, an invisible stone that he did not even know that he had been wearing. He exhaled with the relief of it, but a burning regret was left in its place. It was foolishness anyway, he had no way of knowing if that was even what Eva would want. For all that he knew, she was perfectly content with her bridegroom.

The carriage turned down a street, and the driver called down through the speaking vent, "Might want to close the curtains, sir—passing by a rookery now."

Josiah roused himself a little to his surroundings. On the right side of the carriage was indeed a rookery, the polite term for a slum, jammed into the little streets and alleys behind the fashionable houses. Out of habit, Josiah reached up to draw the little curtain across the carriage window, but stopped himself. He felt that he'd had quite enough of ignoring the reality of the world around him. He forced himself to look, to acknowledge that this was the truth of life for many people.

Women, tired and lined with dirt and worry alike, shuffled to and fro, balancing baskets on their heads and hips. Few wore shoes, their feet caked with dirt. Children scurried here and there, and were roundly chastised for getting in the way. The carriage approached the river, and here the women were congregating, washing the worst of the filth from baskets of stained clothing, sweating on their knees even in the cold air.

One woman, walking down the lane, a basket on her head, caught Josiah's eye. She had thick, dark hair, piled up carelessly on her head. Her gait was uneven, very likely an injury that had healed improperly. It wasn't Eva, he knew that, but there was something in her colouring, in the straightness of her neck that reminded him of her.

It could be her , his mind whispered. What would keep her from this fate if she chose you? All it takes is for you to have one too many injuries, one bad step, and then where is the security? Let her marry her rich man and be safe.

Josiah shook his head, but also found himself craning his neck around to watch the woman as the carriage clattered past. She had clearly once been beautiful, too, but there was only suffering on her face, marred on one side by a long scar that twisted her mouth. Josiah sat heavily back on the carriage bench.

The carriage turned again, but was brought to an abrupt halt, shivering a little on its springs. Josiah opened the speaking vent again.

"What's happened? Why have we stopped?" he demanded.

"Sorry sir, coal cart's overturned in the road," came the weary reply.

Josiah sighed, sliding the vent closed again. He slumped in the bench, resigned to being late. Listlessly, he let his gaze wander outside of the carriage again. They had stopped before a row of shops, their fronts old and worn, but clean. One was a pawnbroker's, which showed a collection of watches and jewellery in the window that had been abandoned by their former owners.

His eyes passed over the trinkets, not really paying them any mind, when suddenly he was snapping back to attention. Squinting, Josiah wondered if he might be seeing things, a kind of urban mirage…but no, he was certain?—

"Sir?" the driver asked, alarmed, as Josiah flung the carriage door open, and slid out without waiting for the steps to be lowered for him. "Sir, shall I pull up? The road will be clear in just a few moments, and we can't hold traffic?—"

"I'll only be a moment," Josiah replied absently, all of his attention riveted on the shop window.

There, winking and gleaming in the intermittent noon-day light, was a small golden pendant in the shape of a sun. Josiah stared at it, trying to force himself to be realistic. The chances were slim to non-existent, it would be too great of a coincidence. Surely there was more than one pendant like this in all of London.

But then, he had never seen another like it. It wasn't a particularly fashionable accessory, there couldn't be more than one. It was hers , he felt it in his bones as surely as he knew how to dance. It could be a little memento, something he kept only for himself, to remind him of the love that he almost had.

Romantic fool , his brain murmured.

He felt frozen, staring at a piece of jewellery in a pawnshop window. The gleam of the gold had him fixed in some kind of spell that refused to allow him to move. Even when the rain began, darting at his face in cold pellets driven by the wind, he simply stared. If he looked hard enough, in the reflection of that tiny golden sun, he could see the life he might have had, the love he could have shared.