Josette (19 page)

Amy suddenly burst into tears and covered her face. “Oh, but I do love him. Don’t you see how wonderful he is?”

“Wonderful for whom?”
Caroline queried.
“The theater?
The scientific community?
Wasn't it the law last season, or was that before he planned to join the Royal Navy with your brother, who had no reason to lower himself to such a career in the first place?”

Amy continued to cry muffled sobs, and Lady Berclair stirred.

“The sea was George's dream,” Josette answered in a low, hard voice. “He didn't mind that Edward chose another path.”

“Veered off, you mean.”

Contentment in the vehicle was now lost as Amy began to sob loudly.

Josette put her arm around her sister and held her close, feeling wet tears on her neck. “Really, Caroline, have you never been in love?”

“No.”

Lady Berclair jerked upright and looked wildly about as a dislocated feather swiped the air. “What's this?” she cried.
“Hands off, rascal!”

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Love.
What was this thing, Love? Josette stood at the gray window and watched the rain fall down, wetting the dust on street below. A poem by Burns came to mind and she murmured to the glass,
“
Talk not of love, it gives me pain,
For
love has been my foe…”
She had felt it as soon as she had demanded to know if Caroline had ever loved. Her heart, speared by some unseen force, had felt a pain so sharp she’d almost cried out.

Josette’s throat pinched up, and she swallowed the painful lump down. She knew love; the
love of a parent, the love of a brother, a little sister, even
the occasional love of a devoted friend. She'd loved horses and dogs and kittens, and more than any other
thing
in her life, she loved Beddingfield Park.
But this new love, this love had feeling.
Passion.
Purpose.

George had loved Captain Carter. Her family loved him, too. And now, she realized with a growing assurance, she had fallen for him as well. Perhaps it was only ardent admiration at this point, but it was something she had never known before, and she wanted more of it. How could she have refused him? It had been presumptuous of her to assume the child was his, even to suspect its circumstances. First she had accused him of her brother's death, then an immoral indiscretion.

She suddenly wished she were window shopping again, browsing the displays in the windows up and down Oxford Street. She wanted to see the gay colors and exotic wares from all over the very broad and confusing world. Why did bonnets make Amy happy, when a wade in the creek make her feel euphoric? “People do not love the same way,” she mused aloud. But was it love that Amy felt for Edward? She only loved her new trifles until she wore them once, and Edward, Josette realized with irritation, was the same way.

The rain dribbled on in a continuous stream, and Josette decided there was a need for music. She gathered some new sheets purchased on one of their outings and fled the maddening weather for the drawing room where, because there was no music room, the
Berclair’s
kept their instruments.

On the second floor landing, Josette noted Amy’s door latched shut. Determined to rouse her sister for a small concerto, she knocked lightly.

Amy was half dressed with a thin blanket and her curtains drawn.

“You have not touched your breakfast tray.”

The tired, pale face did not answer, but turned to face the violet and green papered wall.

“There is no need for despair.” Josette sat on the edge of the bed the way their mother would and rubbed Amy's shoulder.

“I ruined it entirely,” said Amy.

“You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I feel like a half-wit with no mind to own.”

“Look at me. I have always prided myself on truth and plain speaking but in matters of the heart, I have failed miserably.
How else could I be almost twenty and one, and still single?”

“I would that I was more like you, brave, smart Josette,” cried Amy. “You listen to your head first, instead of dashing off with your heart in the lead.”

“But that is my lament. I do not let my heart have any opinion.”

“Should it ever have one, I pray that it doesn't trick you as mine has me.”

Josette smiled though she felt like crying. “Your heart has not wronged you, Edward has. And we both know that now.”

“I was sure he loved me. He all but told me so.”

“What did he say?” asked Josette with some alarm.

“Not that he loved me exactly, but...” Amy stopped and her cheeks turned bright red as if the very subject of their discourse had walked into the room. The silence rang of guilt.

“What did Edward do?” Josette repeated with a sinking heart.

“He kissed me in the drawing room. Before he kissed you,” she added quickly.

Josette’s jaw dropped. “He kissed you?
The cad!”

Amy nodded and began to drip tears again. She reached for a fresh handkerchief on the bedside table.

“Lie back,” Josette insisted and went about tucking her in. She did not bother to reign in her temper.

“Don't mourn for a fool, Amy. He's not worth a
groat
. If we told Papa, he'd make him marry you, but that would be scandalous, and Edward would be bitter toward you. He had no right to take advantage of you. He’s a rake through and through!”

She struggled for something more to soften her sister's pain. “He could have had a Price girl
and
Beddingfield Park. Instead he chooses to keep company with those who wear dresses and wigs and face paint.” She poked her sister to try to make her giggle, but Amy only continued to look miserable, her large blue eyes bleak.

“He said he fancied a country gentleman's life, like Papa has.”

“Edward fancies anyone who has something he does not,” Josette said. “He is destined to be the gentleman over our park no matter what pursuit he chooses. At least now you know love. You have had your heart broken and can wait for your white knight to appear when you least expect it.”

“It wasn't supposed to be this way,” said Amy. Her sadness was palpable. “Oh, Josette, all I ever wanted to be was married. If ever you fall in love, don't let it get away.”

“We don't get to choose if love will be returned. Surely you see that now?”

“But if ever you do.”

Josette nodded. “I suppose Beddingfield Park would not kiss me in the library.”

“You can find another Beddingfield Park.”

Josette pulled the blankets up to Amy's chin. “And you will find another Edward, a better one.”

There seemed more important things to do than music when Josette left the room. She retired to her quarters and pulled the ink bottle from out of her writing desk drawer. In her last letter, Mrs. Egglestone had questioned by way of a very subtle hint as to whether or not Josette had seen Captain Carter again. She meant to ask, Josette suspected, whether or not she had gathered the courage to say the things she’d left unsaid.

They were not engaged, and it would not do to be sending him private missives, but under the circumstances Josette felt she had no choice. Perhaps she was no better than Edward for daring to be so forward, but to say nothing meant to feel unhappy and dissatisfied forever. She’d already been kissed by a libertine, how much worse could
writing
a letter to someone she so desperately admired make her?

If he still had any feelings for her, surely he would not find a letter from her unwelcome. But if not, it would be better to express her feelings and learn she had been put out of his heart.

Knowing that she could not put it off any longer, she smoothed out a sheet of paper. For some time the quill hovered in the air. Carter had a home somewhere about Ipswich, a nice situation with a garden and a small lake. He liked to spend his evenings by the fire with a book; he'd told her so.

Josette closed her eyes and pictured another Beddingfield Park where the grass smelled like warm honey on late afternoons. She imagined a journey overseas with
she
as the captain’s wife and companion. Oh, bother, to be sure. Everything she had thought she'd wanted had changed.

Dear Sir,

I pray that these lines reach you in good health and aboard a happy ship. How the blockade must drag out for those carrying out the solemn duty. You have my best wishes for a successful tour and a safe return.

It is my unfortunate and unhappy obligation to post a repentant letter, humbly filled with sincere apologies for my offensive presumptions of which I accused you of when we last met in Bedfield. My conclusions were too fast and too forward, and did you a great disservice. Not a moment since your departure have I not sorrowed for the shame of my allegations.

Here Josette paused as her eyes raced over her stiff penmanship. Her heart was beating steadily enough that her hands trembled. Where did one find the courage to confess an attachment? La! She'd rather have a cannon aimed at her chest. She closed her eyes for a moment and found a picture in her mind of his dark eyes gazing intently across the room.

So great was my surprise at the direction of our last conversation that I scarcely had time to collect myself. My pragmatic and hurried nature won out and I failed, my good Sir, to return the compliment that I was so honored to have paid to me.

This is a painful admission that I must share, one that I hope will not earn your contempt. Your admission flattered me beyond words, and so great was my unease that I reached for excuses to defend my astonishment. I can find no joy in the festivities this
Season,
or any happiness in my particular habits. You must know that I am in respect and awe of your good character. I've come to suppose I now comprehend your nature and disposition and am far more pleased by it than I had the courage to own.

Josette's cheeks began to burn, and the writing instrument moved even faster as if influenced by the fever of her unchecked emotions, emotions that tumbled forth like a foaming river trying to find the sea.

And I do desire your attentions and approval. There are few things in this world I would not sacrifice to recant my answer to your application. I was wounded by my grief and blind to my true feelings. A future with such a gentleman as you, Captain Carter, would with certainty bring me pleasure and satisfaction. My heart does not doubt it.

Josette's hand came to a stop. There was no moment of release as she’d expected. The inkwell had been jostled to the edge of the desk, and she moved it back to safety. Her stomach churned with the horror of her unchecked words. She considered for a moment her undeserving character but could not force her heart to record another line.

Quickly jotting down her name, she blew the paper dry ignoring the untidy runs and splotches. The letter was folded and sealed and entrusted to a footman before the bell rang for dinner. It was all she could do, and it was done. She had been true to herself and no matter the outcome she had made her best effort to patch up the mistake.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Another day passed with Amy secluded in her room.

The rain had disappeared. Sunlight the color of narcissus returned and brought much needed cheer to Josette's apartment. She took her breakfast with Lady Berclair and Caroline, and kept up her end of polite conversation, but a steady thrum of expectation seemed to reverberate throughout her entire being.