Page 26 of A Perilous Passion

“You need to keep up with the fashions more,” replied her mother with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “Instead of mooning over that wretched Justin Jessop, or wandering around with your head in the clouds thinking up poetry, and other frivolous pursuits, you should be looking at fashion magazines or reading about the royal princesses.”

Charlotte glanced up sharply. Why was Mama talking about Justin? She couldn’t possibly know about the letter. Could she?

“Child, you’re looking very flushed. Go and fetch yourself a drink of water. When you return, we can look at the theatrical masks Lady Culverdale sent us to go with our classical dress. I’m quite at a loss which to choose. But I suppose you must choose first. There’ll be many eligible gentlemen at the assembly, I’m certain, so you must look your absolute best.”

Rising to obediently fetch some water, Charlotte pointed out that if everyone was masked, she was hardly likely to know which were the eligible gentlemen. Nor would the gentlemen be able to detect who she was, and thus know she was young and, as yet, unspoken for.

Not that her prospects for making a good marriage were very high. In fact, with her past, they were practically nonexistent.

“I can’t help but think there is something a bit improper about a masked ball,” Charlotte said. “Matrons might dress like maids, those with better figures easily passing for much younger, and thus trap unwary young gentlemen. Persons of wealth rubbing elbows with those of lesser status, possibly leading to highly unsuitable liaisons.”

Mama laughed. “All these years I’ve thought my daughter wild and wayward, but here you are, fretting about the impropriety of a masked ball. Lest you become a complete milk-and-water miss, I insist you attend this ball with as much enthusiasm as you can muster. You have my permission, and Flora’s, to thoroughly enjoy yourself without fear of condemnation. I’ll do my best to recognize the gallants beneath the masks and steer you in the direction of the most suitable. Now, get your water and go for a lie-down, child. You look quite done in.”

Thank heavens! Finally, an opportunity to read Justin’s letter. She fetched her water and scurried upstairs, scarcely able to breathe in anticipation.

Chapter Eleven

My dearest, most precious Charlotte,

How I miss you! Words are not adequate to explain my Feelings, so much stronger, so much more Desperate now that we have been torn from each other’s arms. I would not wish you to feel the Pain I am feeling, though I would hope you love me no less than I do you. Oh, for the sight of your gentle Face, the spark of humor in your eye, the heavenly vision of your hair wafted by the zephyrs of summer.

What of my grim Lyfe here? I have borne the Cold, the Wet, the endless drills, the hefty weight of my weapons, and of the responsibility, which hangs like the sword of Damocles over me, just waiting for me to make a mistake, sending some poor Fellowe to his Death.

I know not how I can bear this much longer. It is not the Lyfe for me, whatever Papa may say. He has sent me a cruel punishment, indeed, for loving you.

How young, how foolish were our Hearts when we planned to elope! My Heart has hardened—not toward you, my most darling Charlotte, but toward myself. I should never have embarked on so foolish a Venture, I should never have risked destroying your Good Name. Although I think my father has greatly overstepped the mark, I do now realize how much I have disappointed him and the rest of my family with such selfish actions.

I resent my Punishment, but begin to hate myself for what I did to deserve it, and this Battle within my soul is tearing me apart. I cannot help but Hope that it will be over soon.

Please spare a moment to think of me, your poor, wretched Justin, lest Fate decree we never meet again. But I still hope otherwise, for what else do I have left to hope for? I care not for what happens in my Lyfe, but I do still care about yours. Tell me you are Well, tell me you are bearing up. And yes, even though it would pain me to hear it, tell me you are Happy.

Yours until my Dying Day,

Justin

Charlotte folded the paper back over and stared sightlessly out the window. Her mind buzzed like a beehive in a thunderstorm. What was she to understand by his words? That he was going to do something drastic? Take his own life, perhaps?

She turned the paper over and over in her hands, waiting for the tears to come, but discovered she felt numb rather than grief-stricken, worried rather than distraught.

Before she had time to question this lack of emotion, a knock on her chamber door had her leaping up and stuffing the letter under the mattress.

“What is it?” she called, her heart thudding painfully.

“Your friends have come for you,” Aunt Flora called back through the elm panels.

“Just one moment.” Hester and Thea, of course, had arrived, eager to discuss the Culverdale ball. Dare she tell them about her letter? They’d have to go somewhere they wouldn’t be overheard.

She rushed down the stairs and steered them right back out the front door. “I need some air,” she declared.

“How whey-faced you are, Charlotte!” said Hester, as they stepped out into the sunshine. “Aren’t you excited about this rout?”

“Of course I am. But I’ve just come from the Scaddens, and feel a bit low.”

“Let’s head for the church, then,” Thea replied. “I can see if my floral display needs watering yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy the dancing,” Hester said, as she took Charlotte’s arm and held her parasol over them both.

“It’s healthful exercise, the best that can be got if you don’t ride,” Thea agreed.