Marrying Christopher (47 page)

“May I have this dance?” Christopher asked the woman who had to be Charlotte.

“You may,” she replied with a smile similar to her sister’s. She bid her companion farewell and took his hand as they hurried to form the last of a set.

There was no time for introductions, simply a bow and curtsey, and they were off. She was not his partner for long, as he traded with another gentleman as soon as he could, then continually moved into the next closest group, displacing several upset partners along the way as he feigned confusion and murmured false apologies.

At last Christopher had worked his way to the set Marsali was in. When the ladies circled before the gentlemen, he tried to get her attention, but she was not looking his way. The weaving was to come next, and he would have his chance then.

One, two, three of the women passed him. Marsali was next, and he would be able to touch her briefly in passing. He held his arm out, and she touched it lightly. He found her hand and squeezed it, and she looked back as if startled. The next steps came, and Christopher found himself pushed aside from one of the angry men whose partner he had stolen.

Christopher searched for Charlotte but did not see her. No doubt he’d humiliated her in his haste to reach Marsali. He stepped back from the dance, waiting on the edge with those who had not joined in.

Marsali continued dancing with Mr. Vancer as if nothing at all had happened.
How could she not know?
Christopher wondered.
How could she not feel that it was I?
He regretted that he had not thought to take off his mask.

“You see, she is happy.” Lady Cosgrove appeared beside him. “I was not lying.”

“About that, anyway.” There were no words to describe the bitterness and even hatred he felt toward Lady Cosgrove right now. And watching Marsali laugh as she lingered near Vancer, her hand on his arm, felt as if the imaginary knife was being repeatedly thrust and twisted into his heart.

All these weeks he had been trying to find her. He had walked miles searching for her, had worked for her vile employer— all in the hope that she might be found. And she had been here the entire time, enjoying herself.
Without a thought of me.

Marsali tipped her head back and smiled up at Mr. Vancer as she had smiled up at Christopher many times before.

He ran his hands through his hair, unable to deny the obvious.

She cares for him. He cares for her. He can provide for her— anything she might want or need. I cannot do the same.

Wordlessly he turned from Lady Cosgrove and made his way out of the ballroom, back out to the street where the rain was turning to sleet.

He had no money to hail a carriage. He had nothing, so he shoved his hands in his pockets and began walking toward the ferry that would not return to convey him until tomorrow morning because he had stayed too long. He had no idea where he would sleep or what he would do next.

Is it better that Marsali is with Mr. Vancer? What kind of life could I have given her?

Rebellion flared for a moment. He had always been able to find work and to protect his sisters. He would have done the same and more for Marsali. He could have given her a good life.

I love her.
But none of that mattered now.

His brief marriage was over.

“Andrew Jackson has won the election, and I am not even upset.” Mr. Vancer dropped a kiss on the top of Marsali’s head before taking his place at the table. “Must be because I am getting married today.”

Marsali returned his smile and nibbled at her toast. She dared not eat more; her stomach was in such knots. The last time she had been about to get married, she had felt excited and happy, not as if she wished to cry.

The butler appeared in the breakfast room doorway. “Sir, Mr. Fenington is here to see you about a shipment of furs.”

“Right.” Still sipping his tea, Mr. Vancer stood. “Forgot I’d told him I could give him fifteen minutes this morning. But that is
all
. Can’t be late for my own wedding!” With a fond look at Marsali, he left the room.

She took his absence as an excuse to make her own escape, before Charlotte or Lady Cosgrove arrived at the table. Marsali needed a few minutes alone this morning. Soon enough she would have to dress for the ceremony, but until then she needed a quiet room and a handkerchief and a good cry.

Upstairs in her room, she shut and locked the door behind her, retrieved a handful of prettily embroidered handkerchiefs from her bureau, and went to the window to look out at the city view that would be hers for the rest of her life.

She and Christopher had spoken of a life in the country together. Of their own little farm, of working side by side. The life she was about to pledge herself to could not have been more different.

Marsali sank to the floor, burying her face in her arms upon a seat cushion as the flood began. She cried because months had passed without word, and she could no longer deny that Christopher had died. She cried because she still felt as if she was being unfaithful to him. She cried because Mr. Vancer did not make her heart race and sing as Christopher had. She cried because she knew he did not really love her either— not the way Christopher had. She cried because tonight they would both have to pretend something that did not exist, and then she would have to continue pretending it for the rest of her life.

Her handkerchief was soaked through, and she had started on a second when her door opened. Marsali looked up to see Lady Cosgrove enter, key in hand, with her maid and Charlotte close behind.

“Fetch a cool cloth,” Lady Cosgrove instructed the maid upon seeing Marsali seated on the floor and draped over the seat.

“I will be well enough,” Marsali said, sniffing loudly and attempting to stop the next wave of tears.

“Your
face
will not be.” Lady Cosgrove crossed the room and pulled Marsali to her feet. “Look what you have done to yourself. And with but two hours until we must leave.”

“What is it, Marsali? What is wrong?” Charlotte steered Marsali away from Lady Cosgrove and over to the bed, where Marsali collapsed, face down, upon the coverlet and began sobbing anew.

For a few minutes they let her weep while the maid and Lady Cosgrove bustled about the room, readying her wedding outfit, no doubt. Marsali remembered Lydia’s silver gown and all the happiness of that other morning, and she cried more.

“You may go now. We will assist her from here,” Lady Cosgrove instructed the maid.

Marsali heard the sound of the door shutting once more and guessed that she would now receive a lecture— from both Lady Cosgrove and her sister.

Near the foot of the bed the mattress sank on either side. Reluctantly Marsali rolled over, sat up, and faced both women.

“It will get better,” Charlotte promised as she took her hand. “You simply haven’t had enough time. I still miss Matthew and love him and think of him every day, but I have learned that I must move on and make a life for myself and Alec. You have been forced to that conclusion early, that is all.”

Marsali nodded, though she did not entirely agree.

“It seems ridiculous to think that you loved Mr. Thatcher enough to warrant all this.” Lady Cosgrove waved her hand over the pile of soggy handkerchiefs next to Marsali. “You did not talk of love the day Lydia and I helped to get you ready to marry him. Why, you did not even know each other a full month. You have had twice as long to become acquainted with Mr. Vancer.”

“But Christopher and I
understood
each other,” Marsali tried to explain. “We had each come from difficult circumstances, and those had shaped us into the people that we are, with similar dreams and goals. We did
love
each other.”

“Well, you are not going to make a difficult circumstance for Mr. Vancer this morning. He stands to lose a fortune if the two of you do not marry.”

“Christopher lost a fortune
by
marrying me,” Marsali cried. “He gave me his only thing of value— his grandfather’s ring— and he pledged at least two years of his life working to pay off my debt. There was nothing to be gained by his actions.”

“Simply because there is something to be gained by Mr. Vancer’s does not mean he isn’t a good man,” Charlotte said. “He is fond of you and will treat you well.”

“I know.” Marsali fell back onto the pillows, exasperated that she could not make them understand the depth of her feelings.
How wrong what I am about to do feels.

“If only I could stop thinking of Christopher,” she said, tears starting afresh. “But I still dream of him most every night. And when I am awake I imagine sometimes that I see him places— once on the street when Mr. Vancer and I were out driving. I even thought I saw Christopher at the masquerade ball.”

“Oh, Marsali.” Charlotte’s voice was full of empathy, not reprimand.

Lady Cosgrove let out a slow, heavy sigh, as if resigning herself to something. “You did see him at the ball,” she admitted quietly.

“
What?
” Charlotte exclaimed.

Marsali pushed herself up on her elbows and stared at Lady Cosgrove. “What did you say?”

“The truth.” Lady Cosgrove’s usually straight posture was now hunched, and she looked discomfited. She cleared her throat. “I fear I have done a terrible, terrible thing.”

“Only if you are lying now,” Marsali said. “Please, tell me.”

Lady Cosgrove would not meet her eye but inhaled deeply, as if gathering strength. “Do you remember our conversation one afternoon in my cabin shortly after I had recovered?”

“We had many conversations,” Marsali said, clinging to fragile hope.
Just tell me of Christopher.

“I had said that I admired your willpower and determination. And you told me that I’d more strength than I gave myself credit for.” She shook her head sadly. “But you were wrong.”

“I wasn’t.” Marsali sat up and scooted closer on the bed, taking Lady Cosgrove’s hand in hers. “I remember now. I told you that when the time was right, you would reach inside yourself and find the courage and strength you needed.”

“Yes, well, I have not.” Lady Cosgrove sniffled loudly. “When I brought you here at first, I was mostly thinking of myself. I rationed that I was saving you from Mr. Thomas, but the truth was, I was not at all certain that Mr. Vancer would take me in if I could not supply him with a bride. Lydia—” Her voice caught. “—was gone. But I latched onto the idea that you could take her place.”

“But you knew that Mr. Vancer valued your friendship enough to allow you to stay, regardless of my decision or actions. I told you so myself, that first morning after I had spoken with him.”

Lady Cosgrove nodded. “Yes, but I knew I should miss your company if you left. A woman my age does not easily make friends in new circles. But with you as his bride, it was possible that I might.”

“So you kept Christopher from Marsali because you wished to be her friend?” Charlotte’s face screwed up in anger.

“I don’t understand,” Marsali said. “
Is
Christopher alive? Was he here?”

Lady Cosgrove continued her explanation without answering either of them. “Later, I believed I was doing what was best for you… But now I fear I have ruined more than one life with my meddling.”

“It may not be too late to mend your mistake.” Charlotte’s voice softened, and she took Lady Cosgrove’s other hand. “
Was
Marsali’s husband at the ball?”

Lady Cosgrove sniffed again and gave a slow nod. “Mr. Thatcher was there— and you most probably saw him on the carriage ride as well.” She glanced at Marsali, then looked down again, as if she could not bear to see the hurt she had caused. “The first time he came I led him to believe that you had died.”

“Oh, Christopher!” Marsali brought her free hand to her heart. She knew what pain she had endured these months, believing him to be dead, and he had been thinking the same of her. “Why? Why would you do such a thing? You knew I was searching the hospitals and the immigrant records daily.”

“I was thinking of you,” Lady Cosgrove insisted. “Mr. Thatcher had been seriously injured, and it appeared he would be lame for some time— perhaps permanently. I could see only a life of hardship ahead for you, if you remained his wife. I imagined you working to support not only yourself but him as well. But if you stayed with Mr. Vancer, you would never have to work, and you would have everything you ever wanted.”

“I wanted Christopher,” Marsali cried, anguished to think of Christopher not only believing her dead these many months, but physically hurt as well. “It was not your choice to make.”

“That is what he said to me the night of the ball when I confessed what I had done.” Lady Cosgrove looked up for the first time since she had started talking. “Seeing you so distraught… I realize now that I was wrong.”

“Why did Christopher not stay if you told him what you had done?” Charlotte asked the question before Marsali could.

“I convinced him that Marsali was better off with Mr. Vancer and that the two of you cared for one another. Anyone who saw you that night would have believed the same.”

Marsali groaned. “I was trying so hard to convince everyone— myself included. I was trying to embrace the future as Charlotte said I must. I was pretending so at least Mr. Vancer might be happy. I have been doing the same in the weeks since, hoping that if I pretended long enough my feelings for him might someday be true.” Knowing Christopher had seen her thus left Marsali desperate to find him and explain. To set things right.