Chapter 22

“You can’t stay shut up in this room forever you know.” Comfort stood in the doorway to my living quarters. It was the day of the engagement party for Mother and Algernon, and instead of helping get ready, I found that it was much, much easier to stay in my winged armchair, flipping pages in my book as sunshine poured through the open window.

“I know,” I said meekly, but made no effort to rise.

“Come down to meet everyone tonight,” implored Comfort.

“I don’t want to,” I said, squirming. “I will wait until the wedding.”

“Well tonight isn’t about you!” Comfort snapped back. “It is about Mother and her husband-to-be. A fine outlook it would be if one of her own daughters didn’t even show up and stayed upstairs, pouting like a baby.”

I glared at Comfort. She met my gaze, unfazed. “You know it is the right thing to do.” She was extra annoying when she was right.

I humphed and turned away from her. “I will think about it,” I muttered.

“Great, I will see you there!” Comfort trilled, heading out to the corridor. “I still have things to set up.”

“I just said I would think about it!” I called after her. I hoped she heard me. She was probably ignoring what I said.

I had no interest in leaving my room. In being seen by anyone other than Mother or Comfort. I was curious to meet this mysterious Algernon and Cynthia, but shuddered to think what they might say when they saw me.

But Comfort was right. With all Mother had been through, it was the least I could do to put on a happy face for her for a few hours. Smile, congratulate them, and meet my new stepfather.

Stepfather. The word felt odd in my mind and strange when I tried to say it out loud. I really didn’t know much about this Algernon at all, other than that he was a merchant and had a daughter close to my age. I knew his wife had died during childbirth, but that was all. I supposed as long as he made Mother happy, it wouldn’t much matter what I thought of him.

I couldn’t help but feel like Mother was betraying Father’s memory a little. It hadn’t even been a year since he passed away, and she was already moving on to another man? It felt wrong. Granted, I didn’t want Mother to pine for Father eternally. But I had assumed she would stay single forever, never having a romantic relationship again, just reliving the memories she had with Father.

That was ridiculous, of course. I couldn’t expect Mother to commit to a lifetime of loneliness. And I knew she was just as lonely as I was, if not more so.

I sighed aloud, dragged myself out of my armchair, and plodded over to the wardrobe. Every dress I had seemed wrong. Too bright, too gaudy, didn’t have a veil to match. But I also didn’t want to wear dark, mourning colors. This was supposed to be a happy occasion.

Glumly, I sorted through my outfits again. I finally selected a light blue dress with pale pink trimmings around the hems and wrists. It was a little brighter than I would have liked, but my hope was that everyone else would be wearing even louder colors than mine.

I then pulled out the new bag of cosmetics and began the lengthy process of applying them. It was my first time attempting it. I had to uncover my mirror; I had taken to leaving a blanket tossed over it to spare myself from my reflection. Now I studied my face critically. The red boils and peeling, thankfully, had ended months ago. But now I had to camouflage my pinched, taught skin to appear normal.

I wasn’t as talented as Mother or Comfort in this area. For that matter, I didn’t consider myself talented at all when it came to these new powders, creams, dyes, and brushes. But I also didn’t want to ask for their assistance when I knew they were busy with preparations for the festivities tonight. Besides, I needed to learn to do things for myself. I couldn’t stay dependent forever.

My brow furrowed as I studied the tools in front of me. Slowly, I pulled out a cream and slathered it onto my face. Turning my head this way and that, I rubbed it in to moisturize my skin, particularly the burnt area. Then I used powders to coat on top of the cream, trying to create a smooth appearance. I snatched brushes at random, trying to blend the cosmetics to hide the disfigured part of my face.

An hour later, I stared at my reflection. My attempt to hide my disfigurement was an utter failure. I had tried to use faint pink dyes to tint my cheeks and lips, but had only succeeded in accentuating the ragged scars along my left cheek, making me look even uglier than I really was. The shading I had attempted on my eyelids had smeared, making it look like I had a brown and blue bruised eye. I hadn’t selected a wig yet either. My natural hair only just reached the bottom of my ears. Still too short to forego a wig.

I checked the clock. No guests were due to arrive for a few hours yet. I would have to have Comfort help me. I left my room. I didn’t even bother to wipe the caked-on goop off my face. Comfort would be able to tell me where I went wrong.

The house looked different. Friendlier. Sofas and chairs were set along the perimeter of all the rooms. Flowers in vases adorned mantels and side tables. A spot for an orchestra had been cleared, and tables were set up, ready for food to be laid on it. I was reminded strongly of the balls that we had attended so frequently while living at the castle. I saw that a large area had been cleared, most likely for dancing.

I was glad for Mother—she missed dancing with Father so much. I hoped that this Sir Algernon proved to be a capable dancer. And I was sure Comfort would be thrilled to have a long procession of dance partners as she always had before.

“Comfort?” I called loudly. It was still amazing to me how large the manor was. We had multiple rooms that had no purpose at all, but all rooms would be needed tonight, to make space for the long list of guests.

“In the kitchen!” came her voice from far away. I headed that way, still admiring all the decorations on the way. Comfort and Mother had put in a lot of work.

Muffled voices floated out from behind the swinging door leading to the kitchen. I pushed open the door and came face to face with Cynthia for the very first time. I recognized her from the glimpses I had caught of her from my window as she and Comfort had headed to town together. I started to smile to say hello. This was my new stepsister, after all.

Cynthia squealed, leaping back from me as though I had a contagious disease. “Ooooh, your maid is hideous,” she sneered. “Get her out of here before anyone sees.”

I froze. I couldn’t even breathe. Comfort’s mouth gaped open, lost for words. Both of us were stunned into silence. Was this a joke? Certainly grossly lacking sensitivity if she intended it to be.

Cynthia made little shooing motions at me. “Did you hear me? Get lost, Ugly,” she said slowly, as though I was unable to understand her. “Go away! We don’t want you—”

“Shut up!” screamed Comfort suddenly. She seemed to have found her voice. “Just shut up, will you?”

I fled. I barely saw where I was going as tears sprang to my eyes. I could hear Comfort still screaming, berating Cynthia, defending me. But it was impossible to decipher any words over the pounding of me feet.

I rushed back to my room, bolted the door, and meant to drop into bed. But I caught sight of my reflection in the still uncovered mirror. For the briefest of moments, I stared at my scarred, ugly face. It was unbearable. I snatched up a clay ink pot and hurled it against the glass. The mirror and pot both shattered with a satisfying crash, splattering everything with dark black ink.

As if that wasn’t enough, I wrenched the entire mirror’s frame from the wall and flung it to the ground. The wooden frame splintered, and the small remaining fragments of glass were crushed into a powder. My hands were bleeding from the cut glass, but I didn’t care. So what if my hands became as ugly as my face?

Sobbing, I curled into a ball underneath my covers. I didn’t ever want to leave this room again. I didn’t want to have my face anymore. I wished I could be someone, anyone, else.