Chapter 3

" W HAT A CRUSH," CLARA murmured to Agatha while swishing her skirts about. It was obvious she wanted to dance, and was just biding her time waiting for an invitation. Clara was wearing a gorgeous, angelic gown making her look like a goddess while Agatha was dressed to match the sea. A mermaid skirt, of all things, was what her mother had decided upon. At Agatha's suggestion of a seashell covered bosom, her mother had nearly fainted. The funniest part was that even Agatha wasn't sure if she had been jesting or not.

"You look lovely in your gown, Aggie. Are you happy with it?"

"So long as our mother is happy, I'm happy."

"Was she horrendous this morning?"

"More than her usual."

"Oh dear. I should have been there."

"No, you shouldn't have been. Then we would have only both suffered. When it comes to Mother, you should always save yourself."

The sisters chuckled at the all too truthful encouragement.

"Did you hear back about your book?" Clara asked innocently.

And really, Agatha should have already told her. What did she expect? That her sister would just never ask about her secret lifelong dreams that only the two of them knew of? Of course, she would ask. She loved her and wanted Agatha's dreams to come true almost as much as Agatha herself did. Clara was her biggest supporter, and she didn't know what she would do without her.

So she should have pulled her aside earlier and just gotten the bad news over with. But she had been too busy nursing her wounds and then bolstering her confidence from what little remained after her mother's criticism.

Needless to say, it hadn't been the easiest morning, and reliving the rejection with Clara hadn't been at the forefront of her mind. But she didn't want any secrets between her and her sister, especially since Clara was the only person in the world that she had never kept a secret from. They had always been able to share openly with each other. Rejoice in each other's accomplishments (though usually that was done in a clandestine manner) and commiserate in each other's pain—also done surreptitiously.

And both had been done so to avoid one person in particular, their mother.

Then again, because their mother held them to such high standards, it was also true that no one in society really knew Agatha all that well. Which in and of itself was a lonely thought. How much did any one person really know her? Clara obviously knew the most. But what of her other friends? Mary? Margaret? They might only know about ten percent of the real Agatha. And her other friends still? Bella and Charlotte? Kat and Bernadette? They knew even less.

Despite having attended so many parties together (Bernadette not as much since she was a recent addition to their friend's group), they probably knew about five percent of the true Agatha. That was a morose thought. Even more troubling was the truth that she had only herself to blame. And why didn't she share more about herself? Fear? Feeling like a failure? Feeling like an imposter?

At no fault of the other women, she knew with absolute certainty that she felt intimidated by most of those in her friend's circle, especially Mary who was living her dream of being a writer. If Agatha revealed her dream and the women laughed at her—which she knew they wouldn't—she would feel awful. But worse than that, and much more likely than that, if she shared her dreams and they never came to pass, the women might pity her. And that was something she couldn't bear.

Better to keep her secret and bear the joy and disappointment alone. Or rather, with one person.

"I heard back," Agatha sighed heavily.

"I'm sorry, Aggie. You don't want to talk about it, I assume?"

"Not right now."

"I'm here for you when you do want to discuss it." A beat passed as her sister waited for an answer, but then she added, "Just chase your dreams, Aggie. You're the only one who can."

Thankfully they were wearing masks and nothing could be detected on their faces. Lest their mother see any hint of emotion. And she would if she had glanced over because a plethora of emotions were dancing across Agatha's face. Regret. Grief. Curiosity.

A man approached Clara with a wicked grin on his face, "May I have this dance?"

Agatha caught a look from Clara, and she could see the torn look in her sister's eye, but of course a lady must dance when asked. So even though Clara would have sacrificed the dance for her, neither one wanted to defy the societal strictures that obligated them to accept the dance invitation .

She didn't really want to talk about it anyway, and more importantly, she wanted to busy herself enough to avoid any undesirable invitations to dance, especially from Oliver. So with that resolve in place, she went in search of her uncle. Though he didn't know all of her secrets, he at least knew of a few. Which meant conversation wouldn't be akin to pounding a nail through wood using only her fist.

Her Uncle Bernard always made time for her, perhaps knowing his sister as he did. His wealth was extensive and his knowledge decidedly more so.

Once she caught sight of him, she noticed that he was talking to a man dressed in a pirate's costume. His back was turned to her, so she wasn't sure the identity of his conversation partner, but she didn't mind to wait.

Slowly she made her way to the perimeter of their conversation. Her uncle made eye contact and gave a subtle nod, which she returned.

"This is the last one," Agatha overheard the pirate murmur.

Her uncle only nodded and then the pirate merged back into the crowds.

"Aggie," Uncle Bernard drawled, he pulled her into a soft side hug, not caring how informal the greeting was. "How are you this fine evening, my dear?"

"Good. And you?"

He patted her forearm. "Just discussing the merits of utilitarianism versus a universal moral law."

It certainly hadn't sounded like Uncle Bernard had been wrapping up a discussion on ethics, but if that was what he was leading with, she wouldn't turn down the offer for stimulating conversation.

"Bentham and Kant again?"

"Always," her uncle smirked. "I'm not sure I'll ever be satisfied with an answer. "

"That is quite unfortunate, Uncle. It might be a tormented life you choose to lead since we all desire pleasure, don't we? Unanswered questions don't seem conducive to a life of satisfaction and pleasure."

"True, but life is riddled with unanswered questions. The sooner one can accept that fact, the sooner one can move on and enjoy the other parts of life."

That was one of the reasons she loved her uncle. He told it like it was, and he didn't temper his speech merely because she was a woman. As much as he could, he treated her like she was an equal. And he was always open minded to discuss ideas and their consequences.

"You're right, Uncle. I suppose that's why I'll always seek you out. For your wisdom."

His amused smile softened her heart. If nothing else, she always had her uncle to converse with. To actually carry on a conversation of substance. To challenge her intellect, gain knowledge, and exchange ideas.

Perhaps if she did that enough, she would finally gain some of the real world experience she needed for her writing. But even she didn't believe that.

***

Under normal circumstances, Jude would have quit the ball directly after his conversation with Bernard. He had received his orders, as strange as they were, and he was free to start them early should he care to set sail tonight.

And he would have done so, had he not overheard the brief exchange between the uncle and his niece .

Those few short phrases tossed between the two had furrowed their way under his skin. Most women at these balls were dressed to impress a duke, snag a husband, and submit themselves to their future marriage. Countless conversations he had undergone over the years still tortured him with their mind-numbing tedium. The exact color of a gown—when he had one time gone out of his way to compliment the lady on her red dress and she had corrected him stating it was crimson. The weather of the summer season; namely, and somehow inexplicably surprising, as if the woman hadn't observed the pattern of summer weather over the last almost two decades. And of course the gossip. He shuddered, that being his least favorite of all.

If he did, perchance, find a girl willing to chat and she spilled gossip, that was his cue to pass the baton onto someone else. He was just not interested in hearing someone (who he didn't really know) talk about someone else (who he surely didn't know) do something to a third party (who he also didn't know).

He had tried that life and left it behind for privateering. And if some (some being many) mistook him for a pirate, so be it. Either way it meant they would likely not be making attempts to secure his attentions. If his reputation had to suffer in order for him to avoid title-seeking women, he was content to make that sacrifice.

But that one little conversation had nudged something within him that he thought had died. The fact that something within him had budged at all indicated life was still present but perhaps had only fallen asleep. So…acting contrary to his natural inclinations and habits of the past decade (more or less), he followed the niece in hopes (that was exaggerating the feeling) of having a stimulating conversation with her himself. And perhaps he would even ask her to dance. What harm could come from one conversation ?

It would be refreshing. And he wanted nothing more than to be refreshed. It sounded like the kind of experience he needed right about now.