Heart of the Beholder

23

EDGAR WAS WAITING FOR THEM by the grand piano in his butler posture, and a row of servants stood along the side wall. Lord Thornwood took the box of gardening tools out of her hands and set them on a chair. “I will leave you in Edgar’s care for a moment while I take care of a few things. I will be back soon.” Before Bridgette could say anything, he slipped out of the room and shut the door.

Bridgette turned her attention to the butler. “What has gotten into him?”

“It's hard to say, my lady. But I have known him his whole life, and I cannot remember a time when he was as happy as he is now.”

“It could be any number of things which could have that effect.”

“That is true, but the only thing that has changed in his life lately is your presence,” Edgar said with his brows high.

She furrowed her brow. “What am I supposed to do with that knowledge, Edgar?”

“Whatever you please, my lady,” he said with a knowing smile. “Now, what dance would you like to learn first?”

“Um, what are my options?” she asked, setting her flower crown carefully on top of her box of gardening tools.

“I don’t want to overwhelm you with all the variations of all the dances, so we will stick to the simplest versions of the quadrille, Scotch reel, and waltz.”

Bridgette’s eyes widened at the list. “You are going to teach them all to me before the ball?”

“That is my intention, my lady,” he said with an amused smile. “Let’s start with the quadrille.” The servants stepped forward and paired up, then formed a small circle. Edgar beckoned her to follow him and join the circle. “Now, my first rule is, if you are ever in doubt, just rely on your partner or watch what other couples do, and you will do just fine. The quadrille consists of patterns of stepping forward and back and switching places with other couples—you just have to remember the order. Once you are comfortable with it, we can move on to the Scotch reel, which is similar, but quicker and with a lot of skipping.”

Edgar walked her through the order of the steps, and the servants smiled as they followed along. There were a lot of forwards and backs and curtsies and turns that were not too complicated. Bridgette felt like she was catching on rather quickly. Edgar counted the tempo out loud as they ran the dance all the way through. She felt elated when she made it to the end with no missteps. The Scotch reel was very quick, and Bridgette laughed loudly every time she turned the wrong way or bumped into someone else who just smiled at her and gave her encouragement.

When it was time for the waltz, Edgar excused the rest of the servants and went over the three different holds that a couple would alternate between during the dance. Adding the footwork was the difficult part. Edgar counted out loud again, but Bridgette couldn’t quite step in time, and couldn’t keep track of which direction she was supposed to put her foot. After the fifth time of stepping on Edgar’s toe, Bridgette stepped back and sighed. “I think I could keep up with the timing if I had music.”

“Something like this?” A flowing tune came from the grand piano behind them. Bridgette spun around to find Lord Thornwood seated at the piano, moving his fingers over the keys as smoothly as the brook in the meadow. He peeked up at her while continuing the piece and smiled mischievously.

“How long have you been here?” Bridgette asked, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“Long enough to know you are a quick learner.”

“Well, it does help that Edgar is an excellent teacher,” she said.

“Shall we, my lady?” Edgar said with a bow. Bridgette took his hand and they glided around the room easily to Lord Thornwood’s effortless music. She made a few mistakes, but Edgar easily corrected the movements and kept them in time. The song slowed to an end and Edgar spun her out, then they bowed to each other. Bridgette beamed as Edgar applauded for her. “Very well done, my lady.”

Bridgette was so caught up in her accomplishment, it took her a moment to realize the piano notes hadn’t stopped. The soft, flowing melody had changed into a strain of demanding notes which were dramatically spaced out. The single note tune transformed into an overwhelming song of heartache and frustration. Lord Thornwood’s hands moved over the keys with unfathomable speed and precision, even with his eyes closed. His body moved with the flow of the music he created.

Edgar touched her arm and whispered, “I have to check in with the staff. Have him call me if he needs anything.” Bridgette nodded, and the butler left the room.

It was like watching a story unfold on a stage. As the music got louder and more dramatic, his face crumpled with emotion. Bridgette’s heart pounded with the chords, and the energy of the piece filled her body. She clutched her stomach and waited for him to reach the peak, like waiting for an explosion to tear apart the world. Lord Thornwood’s shoulders shook as the volume grew. Bridgette held her breath for the finale, but almost fell to her knees when the notes cut out unexpectedly. After a full rest, a sorrowful melody soothed the quiet in the room. Lord Thornwood’s movements grew smaller and less dramatic. He hung his head as the song continued to drift from his fingertips.

Bridgette moved reverently toward the piano and sat on the edge of the bench, watching him play the final notes of the most beautiful piano piece and performance she had ever witnessed. When the song was over, a tear splashed onto the white and black keys between his hands. The air felt frozen as they both sat in silence. She wasn’t sure what she should say or if she should say anything. Lord Thornwood had just opened himself up to her through music—she couldn’t just sit there. She scooted closer to him and placed her right hand on the keys. She counted in her head, then played the beginning notes of the only song she had ever learned. It was a silly little nursery lullaby one of her childhood friends had taught her years ago. After four notes, she made a mistake and cringed. The tune repeated an octave higher with perfect tempo. She looked over, and Lord Thornwood repeated it. She copied the rhythm, and Lord Thornwood nodded his approval. She played it again, and he joined her with more notes than she could keep track of. He made it sound magical, like raining stars.

“You have a gift,” she whispered. “A truly amazing and rare gift.”

“I haven’t touched a piano in years,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Since your mother died?”

“Even longer than that,” he admitted. “I was having a hard time before she died, but when she was gone, I didn’t care about anything.”

“I don’t know if that is true,” she countered. “You said if you had known your father was sick, you would have tried to see him before he died. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have thought that.” Bridgette waited for him to respond, but he stayed quiet. He took a deep breath and sighed. “You also said if you went back, your brother probably would have killed you. Why?”

Lord Thornwood ran a finger over the white keys; After a few silent moments, he spoke. “In the beginning, we got along well enough. We played tricks on each other like young brothers do—it was harmless. But it didn’t stay that way for long. Since I am the oldest, I was set to inherit the majority of the family’s wealth and… title.” He paused, and Bridgette glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He stared blankly out the window, as if he were reliving memories he wasn’t fond of. “I think he was jealous of my role as the eldest son and spent a lot of his time showing his unhappiness. Anything given to me, or that I earned, and he didn’t, was a target for him to destroy. Many of the birthday presents my mother gave to me were broken at his hand. So, when my mother gave me that chess set upstairs, I guarded it with my life. Any friends I tried to make never stayed long, and now that I think about it, I am sure he sabotaged them in some way.”

He shook his head and sighed. “I remember one time, there was a young lady whom I had an interest in. We became really close friends, but I wanted it to be more. I was unsure what to do, and I made the mistake of telling my brother. When I finally got the courage to tell her my feelings, I found my brother kissing her in the garden I walked through every morning. I still remember the pain in my chest and the self-satisfied look in his eye. It was not by chance that I happened upon them. My brother knew my routine, and he’d never shown any interest in her until I told him about mine.

“Everything was a competition with him that I didn’t want to participate in, but he gave me no choice. So I started to push back and planned ways to come out on top.” He ran a hand over his face and mask. “I did a lot of things I shouldn’t have, but he coerced me and pushed me to the edge of my patience again and again. I couldn’t just sit back and let him do it. The last few years were only wars between us. We faked civility for the sake of those around us, but I had nothing except hatred for him on the inside. I just accepted it was something I would have to deal with for the rest of my life.

“But to add salt to the wound, my brother’s life’s purpose was to win my father’s favor and put me in a bad light. My father acted like he only had one son because I was such a disappointment to him. I just pretended I didn’t care. My mother was dead, and my father was getting older. Soon, I would take his place and everything would be as it should be.” His fingers found the keys again, and he played multiple chords that felt angry. “I never thought he would go so far as to push me out of the running entirely. It was the last night I saw my father. It was the night my brother took everything from me. I was left with nothing, except for the things I took with me as Edgar and I ran.

“Last I heard, everyone thought I was dead and was happy about it. If I showed up to see my father, it would have given my brother another opportunity to strike me when I was down and probably end me for good. That is why I would be killed if I went back.”

Bridgette knew there were details he must have left out, but she couldn’t help but feel touched he would share it with her. “I am so sorry you had to endure a life like that.”

“I honestly don’t know how I made it out alive,” he said and played calmer chords.

“By the power of the glass rose,” she said.

His hands fumbled, and he played a chord which did not sound pleasant. “What did you say?” He looked at her like she just offered to milk the piano—confused and frightened.

“Oh, it is just a saying my mother used to say when we had no other reasonable explanation for how something happened,” she said with a sheepish smile.

His brow creased above the mask. “I have never heard that before. Where did your mother learn that?”

“Well, you know about the glass rose, right? The artifact which is the power source of all magic?”

“Yes.”

“Of course, who knows if it really exists,” she laughed lightly. “It was hidden and then stolen. What a convenient excuse for why magic is not working as well as it had. Real or not, my mother would always tell me the story of how it was created, and it would give me comfort.”

He adjusted his posture and played a few more chords which were neither happy nor sad. “That is interesting. I didn’t know there was a story about it.”

“Would you like to hear it?”

He turned and looked at her with his green eye. He didn’t smile, but his expression was sincere as he said, “Yes.”

The attention made her blush. She looked away and cleared her throat. “Long ago, before the Oakwater Kingdom was born, there once lived a girl with pale skin, ice blue eyes, and hair almost as white as snow. She had no family or place to call her own, so she wandered the land in search of something to belong to. She was not welcomed by those she crossed paths with. People were unsettled by her unusual appearance and often sent her away, for fear she was a demon disguised as a human. The rejections weighed on her, so she stopped looking for someone to accept her and ran high into the mountains. It was cold and lonely, but she felt welcome in nature’s tranquility.

“Years passed, and the girl became a woman. She befriended the animals and was content with her quiet life among the trees. All was simple and predictable, until one day, a man showed up on her mountain. It had been years since she’d seen another human. She hid herself and watched, afraid he was a hunter and had come to hurt the animals. She would defend her mountain if she had to. To her surprise, the man fell to his knees and prayed aloud saying he was lost and needed a sign.”

Something in the corner of Bridgette’s vision made her pause. A white bird sat outside one of the windows in the early evening sun. Lord Thornwood saw it too, but when she didn’t continue the story, he leaned over and whispered, “Then what happened?”

“The woman was so intrigued by what she saw and heard, that she left her hiding spot to sit in front of the praying man. When he opened his eyes, he was startled, and the woman was afraid her appearance frightened him. He looked very different from her with his dark skin and dark hair. He was everything she was not. The woman didn’t move or say anything because she didn’t want to scare him off. After years of being alone, she didn’t want him to leave. They stared at each other in silence for a long time. Eventually, the man turned from her and left without saying a word.

“The woman’s heart hurt as she realized how lonely she was. She knew nothing of the man, but she felt the absence of his presence deeply. The next day, she made a vow to herself to forget the man and continue to be content with her mountain. She had been fine before he’d appeared, so she would be fine again. But the loneliness felt like a sickness that would not leave. It made her feel weak and vulnerable. A dark sadness crept into her mind, and she feared it would plague her for the rest of her life. She was ready to give up hope of ever feeling better, when the man returned. She did not hide this time. The fear of being alone again overcame her fear of rejection, so she approached the man and offered her hand. The man was hesitant at first, but eventually accepted her offering and took her hand. He smiled and said she was the sign he was looking for. The woman didn’t know what that meant, but her chest felt light, and the sadness was gone. She didn’t get a chance to ask any questions before he left, but he promised he would return the next day.

“The man came back the next day and stayed for a little while, before he left again. The woman was a little worried she would never see him again, but he returned the next day. This continued, and the woman found herself sitting on the same rock at the same hour every day as she waited for him to come, and he always did. In the short time they were together, each day, she learned of his heart and the things that made him happy. A pleasant friendship blossomed between them, but it wasn’t long before it seemed to become something more.

“One day, she was brave enough to ask him the question she had been saving since the first day she saw him. She asked him why he was praying for a sign. The man told her he was supposed to be the future leader of his tribe, who worshiped the mountains, and a bride had been chosen for him. But he did not love the bride and did not want to marry her. If he refused the betrothal, he would be disowned by the tribe. The man loved his tribe, his family, and had been chosen from birth to be their leader. He knew he was supposed to lead, but he had felt like he should not marry a woman he did not love. His battling thoughts led him high into the mountains. When he could not walk anymore, he fell to his knees and prayed for a sign. He said when he had opened his eyes and saw her, he knew he needed to go back to his tribe and end the betrothal.

“The woman was sad to learn this; she felt like he had lost everything for her, and he needed to go back and marry the woman he did not love, and become the leader he was meant to be. Though it hurt her, she begged him to return to his tribe. The man did not argue and left as she had asked. The woman sat on her rock and cried as she watched the man walk away. She cried all through the night and into the morning, knowing that if he listened to her, he would not come back and the loneliness would return. But she knew he needed to be with his tribe, and she would not hold him back.” Bridgette leaned closer and whispered, “Can you guess what happened next?”

Lord Thornwood leaned toward her before she pulled back, and their shoulders brushed. “My guess is that he came back because he loved her.”

She nodded and continued, “The woman stayed on the rock and watched the road, even though she knew it would break her heart when the hour came without him. She didn’t think she could ever find the strength to move and would probably die on the rock. The familiar hour came, and just like so many times before, so did the man. He was not alone; a whole town of people followed behind him. The woman could not believe her eyes as he came to her and handed her a long-stemmed red rose. The man said he had gone back to his tribe, like she told him to. He had told his tribe he had prayed for a sign and was given one. He could not marry the bride he did not love, because the mountain had already chosen the woman for him. To his relief, the tribe accepted and rejoiced in the sign, and came with him to see the woman the mountain had given him.

“The man also told the woman that in his tribe, it was a tradition for a man to present a gift to the woman he wanted to marry with something that symbolized his heart. He told her his heart had been guarded and love had been something that scared him. But she had reached out to him and didn’t pull away, even though he was guarded, like the thorns on the stem. She showed him how beautiful love could be, like the bloom of the rose. The man declared the rose as a symbol of his heart and his love. He told her that if she would have him, they could be married right there on the mountain. The woman accepted the man's proposal without hesitation. This was what she wanted; she would never be alone again.

“The tribe gathered round, and the priest started to perform the ceremony, but before it was finished, someone cried out in anger. It was the bride the man did not love. She screamed that the man would be punished, because he broke their betrothal to marry a demon. The bride launched herself at the woman with a knife, but the man stepped in the way, and the blade pierced his heart. He lost his strength and fell to the ground. The woman cried as she cradled the man’s head. He expressed his love to her and said love was more important than traditions and the opportunity to be the leader of the tribe. It was stronger than hate and gave meaning to forgiveness. In his dying breath, he asked her to keep his heart safe because it would protect her as long as she lived.” Bridgette paused to swallow and let her sorrow sit for a moment.

“The tribe mourned the loss of their leader and took his body to be burned according to their traditions. The woman he loved stayed on the mountain with the rose which represented his heart. She set the rose on her rock and knelt before it. Some say she did not move for a whole year. She knelt there through all the seasons and weather. She was covered in sun, rain, wind, leaves, and snow. She did not move, because she mourned the loss of the man she loved. When the year came to an end, she looked up and saw the rose had turned to glass and glowed with its own light. And so, the glass rose was created from the love of two people. Many believe the mountain took pity on the woman and made the rose a source of magic and good fortune. So, by the power of the glass rose, impossible things come to be.”

“But now it has been stolen, and Oakwater Kingdom is falling apart,” Lord Thornwood said, looking dazed.

Bridgette played one note several keys away from where his hand rested. “Well, not completely. There are still good things that are happening.” She moved one key closer to him.

“And I suppose things were fairly bad before it was stolen,” he said as he slid his hand one key closer to hers.

“I do sometimes wonder what would change if there were no magic,” she said aloud. “My life wouldn’t be that different, but maybe other people would be nicer or less afraid.” Bridgette moved another key over and was only three keys away from him.

Lord Thornwood nodded, then moved his hand over two keys and played a minor chord.

“You asked me about my thoughts of magic, but I never asked yours.” Carefully, she pressed the key right next to his hand.

“There is a complicated relationship between me and magic,” he said without moving his hands.

“What do you mean by that?”

“It was such a part of my life growing up that I paid little mind to it. Then, I had a bad experience with magic and completely despised it,” he said with a shake of his head.

“And now?”

“Now, I am unsure what my feelings are. The things I thought were good are actually terrible, and the things I thought were terrible are actually quite nice.” He played the black key above her white key, then rested his hand on top of hers.

“Why do I feel like you should say checkmate?” she asked, not moving her hand away.

He chuckled silently, his shoulders shaking. He flipped his hand and slid it smoothly under hers. “I think you are the one who has put me in check,” he said looking at their hands, staying palm-to-palm.

Bridgette’s hand twitched as she contemplated entwining her fingers with his and calling a checkmate. She wanted to, but before she could work up the courage, the door opened, and she pulled her hand away.

“My lord, my lady, dinner is ready to be served,” Edgar said from the open doorway.

Lord Thornwood escorted her to the dining room. Servants stood all around the room and watched as they entered. Lord Thornwood’s seat was at the head of the table. He helped Bridgette sit in the chair to his right before he sat as well. “Please, sit,” he said to the servants. All the empty seats were filled by servants in their neat uniforms, much like Bridgette’s work attire. A moment later, Edgar opened the swinging door to the kitchen and held it open for a line of men wearing clothes similar to the butler’s, holding trays of food. Everyone at the table was served a plate of salad, which looked like a work of art with how many colors were in it. It tasted wonderful and foreign to Bridgette. The servants took a moment to warm up to the situation, but soon they were chatting with each other, and asking Bridgette questions about her family. Lord Thornwood was quiet, but every time she looked over at him, he looked happy and content.

More servants came to clear away the salad plates and replace them with the main course of cooked meat, mashed potatoes with gravy, cooked vegetables, and fresh rolls. Never in her life had she ever had such delicious food. Bridgette ate until she felt her stomach would burst. It felt good.

The servants came around and filled the glasses with a rose-colored, bubbly liquid. Lord Thornwood stood with his full glass in hand. “I would like to propose a toast to Lady Bridgette Meadowbrooke.” Bridgette’s face felt like it was on fire. “She is the reason for tonight's celebration. The Fates have not been easy on her, but even with a heavy load, she is still kind to everyone she meets. I am especially grateful to her and her stubborn determination, because if it weren’t for her, I would be sitting alone in a dark room right now. So, thank you to all of you who have come to help me celebrate her. To Lady Bridgette,” he said and held up his glass.

The whole table cheered, “To Lady Bridgette!” Glasses clinked. The ladies sipped their drinks, and the men downed the liquid in one swallow.

Bridgette looked bashfully over to Lord Thornwood, who was now sitting again and holding his glass out to her. She took her glass and clinked it to his. “To a marvelous host, Lord Thornwood,” she said, then gulped her drink like the men at the table. She immediately hiccuped. Her nose burned, and her eyes watered as the bubbly liquid made its way down to her belly. Lord Thornwood chuckled. Bridgette hiccuped again and covered her mouth with her hands.

Edgar appeared at the door to the entrance hall and announced, “You may now all proceed to the ballroom for music, dancing, and dessert.”

The servants at the table stood up and chatted as they helped the other servants clear the dishes. Bridgette was content to watch them work and soak in the moment. Lord Thornwood kept quiet next to her, his presence a comfort. She finally looked over at him and blushed when she met his eye. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I am worried I forgot everything Edgar taught me, and I am going to make such a fool of myself,” she said, playing with the edge of the tablecloth.

Lord Thornwood stood and moved to pull out her chair. “I promise you will not look like a fool. I will do everything in my power to prevent that.”

She nodded shyly and took his arm without looking at his face. The short walk from the dining room to the ballroom was not long enough for her to get rid of all her nerves, but she felt a little better by the time they stepped through the door. Bridgette had to blink several times to comprehend what she was seeing. The ballroom had been empty just a few hours before. Now it was a party in full swing. Servants had already paired off and had started dancing to the music being played by a string ensemble set on a small stage at the side of the room. Tables had been set up along the opposite wall and were full of every kind of sweet Bridgette could think of. She licked her lips as they walked past the fruit tarts and cake balls covered in sugar. Hundreds of candles had been lit—those in the chandelier and others spread throughout the room. It was all mesmerizing.

Bridgette’s heart fluttered at the excitement of those dancing and others laughing on the edge of the room. She was at a ball. It was not grand, but it was not small either. Despite the joy in her chest, she also felt an unwanted weight in her stomach. Not wanting to ruin the night, she ignored the constant unease as much as she could. She felt immensely more relaxed when Edgar approached and asked for her first dance. After Lord Thornwood encouraged her to accept, she let the butler lead her into the midst of the moving couples. Edgar was able to flawlessly join in the middle of the dance, and Bridgette was able to follow everyone around her. Though she was a little behind with her motions, she didn’t feel so out of place, thanks to Edgar’s lesson. When she stepped toward him and they joined palms and walked in a circle, he took the chance to talk. “You are doing very well, my lady.”

They paused and turned to circle each other counter-clockwise. “Thank you, Edgar.”

“Is something bothering you? You seem strained,” Edgar said without looking at her.

“I am a little overwhelmed with everything, but I am enjoying myself, I promise,” she said.

Edgar glanced at her as they switched partners. When they were back together again, he leaned in and said, “If it is too much, tell him.” Bridgette’s eyes widened as they separated for the end of the dance.

Everyone clapped when the song came to an end. Bridgette let herself feel a little bit of pride, but couldn’t get rid of the guilt that followed Edgar’s words. She saw Lord Thornwood on the edge of the room. He smiled and raised his drink to her when their eyes met. She couldn’t help but smile back. He did all of this for her. This was something she had wanted for so long. She could handle it. She had to handle it.

A servant, who looked a little younger than Edgar, asked for a dance. Bridgette accepted. She smiled and laughed through the next few quadrilles and Scotch reels. The servants were so kind and joyful, it made it easier to enjoy herself. Finally, Lord Thornwood tapped on the shoulder of her current dance partner and asked to cut in.

The next song started much slower than the last. Bridgette held her breath as he placed a hand at the middle of her back and brought her close to him. She avoided his gaze as she placed her hand on his shoulder. With seemingly no effort at all, he pulled her into the moving dancers and steered her around the room in such smooth motions, she felt like she was a feather in the wind. Lord Thornwood stepped to the side and moved his hand to spin her, putting them in a position where her wrists were crossed. He lifted her right hand so their arms made an arch above their heads as they spun together. It made it impossible to not look at his face, so she did and immediately stumbled over her own feet. Lord Thornwood caught her with ease and spun her back into the original hold. They twirled around the room a few more times, then changed positions again so they were facing the same direction, and he had an arm around her. Bridgette couldn’t describe how she felt; it was foreign and new. She felt safe and comfortable, but she also felt restless and a need to get energy out, even though she had been dancing for a while.

“You are quiet,” Lord Thornwood said in her ear. She looked up and smiled politely as he spun her around.

“I am processing,” she said as he led her through more of the dance.

“What are you processing exactly?” he asked with a hint of worry.

“I am trying to figure out how to put what I am feeling into words,” she said.

“Ah, I see,” he said with a look of concentration. “I have found that sometimes words fail and music is much more effective.” He waved at the ensemble, and the music changed. It was still a waltz, but much quicker. She laughed as he spun her and almost literally flew her across the room with him. The couples around them laughed and tried to keep up. It was so ridiculous how fast they were moving and how easy Lord Thornwood made it look.

It gave her a rush of bravery, so she looked into his green eye and said, “You are entirely too good at this.”

He pulled her a little closer and gently pressed his forehead to hers. “Will you hold me accountable for my crime of being too good a dancer?”

She laughed loudly as he abruptly spun her away from him. When he spun her back, she said, “I am unsure how to hold you accountable for such a crime.”

“If I know anything about you, it will have something to do with washing the dishes,” he said with a grin, then spun her away again.

She laughed freely as she spun out completely. She felt Lord Thornwood’s pull to come back, so she started to spin back to him. Another couple twirled by her, and she caught a strong, familiar scent which made her mind go blank and her body freeze. The next thing she knew, she was on her knees with her face in her hands.

Get up, girl. Such a clumsy waste. What good are you if you cannot dance? Can’t even stand on your feet! No man will ever want you! You will live and die alone. Such a coward. A waste. A curse. Her father’s drunk and angry voice boomed in her head.

“Bridgette,” a soft voice said from beside her.

Somehow, she managed to get onto her feet and run for the entrance hall. She covered her ears, but the words wouldn’t stop. A sob escaped her throat, and she grabbed the railing of the stairs to keep from collapsing.

“Bridgette, are you alright? I thought I had you. I didn’t see anything that would trip you or make you fall.” His footsteps slowed as he got closer to her.

Bridgette covered her mouth with a hand, but the sobs kept coming.

“Bridgette,” Lord Thornwood said gently. “Bridgette, look at me.”

She wouldn’t look at him, and he didn’t make her. He was polite and a gentleman, but something inside of her begged to be held. She moved to rest her forehead on the cool wood of the railing and sniffed. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Her words were interrupted by a sob. “I don’t want to hurt you. Everything has been perfect—I am just a coward. A waste. A curse.”

Arms encompassed her from behind. “Bridgette,” he whispered into her hair. “Please, don’t say those things.”

It would be so easy to lose herself in his embrace, to succumb to the warmth and safety he gave her. She wanted to, but she couldn’t. She was not worthy, so she slipped away from him, and he didn’t hold her back. “But they are true,” she said, not turning to look at him.

“They are not, Bridgette,” he said firmly. She held her breath as she felt him move closer, but he did not reach out to touch her again. “What happened back there? Does it have something to do with your father?”

Her shoulders slumped, and she nodded. “When I was old enough, I finally got the courage to ask him if I could attend a ball with him and my mother. He seemed pleased that I would want to go and said he would teach me himself. I was thrilled to think something I wanted made him proud, and he was willing to help me.” She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from falling apart. “The first lesson started off well enough. I couldn’t get it perfect the first time, but I stayed on my feet. I just remember the smell of ale on his breath, and it made me nervous to make a mistake. But of course, with my luck, I tripped over my own feet and landed on the floor. He yelled at me for being a clumsy waste and a lot of other things. He never offered to teach me again. And I never asked. He convinced me I would never be good enough in any way for anyone to love me. I accepted the idea that I would live with my parents until they passed away, then take care of their land until I died, alone.”

“You seemed like you were enjoying yourself. Were you pretending to please me?” Lord Thornwood asked. She could hear the fear in his voice.

She turned to face him, but kept her eyes on the floor. “No. I may have been hesitant at first because of the experience with my father, but then I was dancing with you, and you made it so easy to breathe and to let go of everything. I was about to let it all go, then someone passed me, and the Fates would have it, they had the exact combination of cologne and ale that my father has in my memories. I was back to that moment when I was on the floor and he yelled at me in his disappointment. I felt unworthy of happiness.”

Bridgette watched as the tips of his polished shoes came into her view of the floor. His calming scent engulfed her as he inched closer. “Bridgette, look at me,” he said, insistent. Bridgette shook her head. A gentle finger pushed her chin up so she would meet his gaze. There was no pity or sadness, only determination. “Don’t let him take away your joy. Don’t let his words cage you.” She tried to lower her chin, but he didn’t let her. “Bridgette, you are not a coward. You came to this manor looking for employment, even after knowing the master was a piece of work who needed to learn a few lessons.” The corner of his lips curled, and the tightness in her chest eased. “Not to mention, you were set on walking through a wolf-infested forest in the dark, with only a lantern, by yourself.” She couldn’t help but smile a little at his bewilderment.

“You are definitely not a waste,” he continued and laughed in disbelief. “All the rugs you beat, the windows you cleaned, the lunch trays you brought me, the garden you tended, the company you gave me.” He blinked rapidly, and she realized there were tears in his eye. “I don’t know a lot about curses, but if you are a curse, then curse me a thousand times over. My life was dreary and terrible without you in it, and I never want to go back to that. I never want to lose you. And there is no one else on this earth who deserves happiness more than you.”

Bridgette forgot how to speak and how to breathe air. His words were like a grand feast she had been craving to hear her whole life, so why was she hesitant to accept them? All she could do was look at him and hope he never got tired of waiting for her to figure out the mess inside herself.

“Is everything alright, my lady?” Edgar asked from the doorway to the ballroom, which was still full of celebrating servants.

Lord Thornwood dropped his hand from her chin and stepped back. “I am okay now, thank you,” she said and felt her cheeks warm.

“Very good, my lady,” the butler said and walked back into the ballroom.

“Would you like to go back in?” Lord Thornwood asked with his arm held out to her.

“As much as I want to, I don't think I am ready to go back in,” she admitted, ashamed.

“Whatever you need, Bridgette. If you don’t want to go back in there for the rest of the evening, we won’t,” he said with a charming smile.

“But I was hoping to sample all of the desserts,” she added.

“I believe the dining room is empty and waiting for us to enjoy some sweets. Shall we?”

Bridgette smiled and took his arm; they returned to the quiet dining room, lit only by the tall candles lined down the center of the table. He pulled a chair out for her to sit, then pulled a chair out next to her, and said, “For your feet, my lady.”

She gawked at him. “I am not putting my shoes on the chair. Edgar would not be happy.”

“That is fine, but I have had the chance to be around many women who complained about the pain of wearing shoes with heels after a while.” He looked thoughtful and added, “After many hours of dancing, my mother would sneak away and put her feet up. She said it helped. I’ll get the desserts.”

Bridgette watched him leave the room and had to smile. The day had kept her mind so preoccupied, she didn’t have a chance to notice the aching in the arches of her feet. Awkwardly, she put her feet up on the seat of the chair and laughed at herself. After a minute, Lord Thornwood returned with two plates, each holding a few desserts. After setting them on the table, he sat in the chair on the other side of her footrest. He smiled and asked, “Feel better?”

“Yes, my feet thank you,” she laughed and reached for a pastry with a fancy flower made of frosting on top. She took a bite and was delighted to find it had a berry filling. Lord Thornwood popped a cake ball into his mouth and licked the sugar off his fingers. He looked so at ease, like she hadn’t just lost her mind over something she had smelled. With her feet propped up on the chair between them while they ate desserts in comfortable silence, she couldn’t help but notice the change between them. She felt like the wall, which had once kept her from completely giving in to her curiosity, had now crumbled to the ground. What once was careful and polite was now casual and relaxed.

When he caught her staring this time, her stomach fluttered, but her cheeks did not warm. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“This pastry is heavenly,” she said after she swallowed the last bite.

He smirked. “Is that all?”

“I just can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that you pulled all this off in a day,” she said, waving in the direction of the ballroom.

“It wasn’t just me. If it weren’t for Edgar and his connections, it never would have happened.” He ate his last cake ball and relaxed into his chair a little bit more. “If it were just me, it would have been a sad excuse of an attempt compared to this.”

“I don’t believe that,” she said, picking up a small lemon tart.

“No?”

“I would have been just as impressed if you had given me a personal piano recital,” Bridgette said and ate the tart.

He shook his head. “You deserve much more than that.”

“I do not,” she countered.

“Yes, you do,” he said, as if it were obvious. “In fact, you deserve more than what you got today.”

“Oh, no,” she said and shook her head. “It has been amazing, but far too much. I do not need anything more for the rest of my life.”

He sat up straight and smoothed out his vest. “Don’t be a silly goose. I was just about to call a maid to come massage your feet.”

Bridgette immediately took her feet off the chair. “Don’t you dare,” she laughed, appalled.

“What would you do if I did?” he asked with a mischievous look in his eye.

Bridgette looked at the two empty dishes on the table and snatched them. “I will wash the dishes.”

She was through the kitchen door before he stood up from his chair. She laughed as he pushed through the door and gave her a look a nanny would give a child who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Lady Meadowbrooke, you do not know your place. I must ask you to give me those dishes.”

She bit her bottom lip, trying to hide her smile, as she backed up toward the sink, feeling a little reckless. “If you want them, you will have to come get them.”

“I accept that challenge,” he said and darted toward her.

She turned and ran around the long table. She knew it wouldn’t take him long to catch up to her, so when she looked over her shoulder, she was surprised to not find him there. She looked forward again and yelped in surprise to find him standing right in front of her. He took a step toward her, with a hand out for the dishes. She took a step backwards, hiding the dishes behind her back. She bumped into the table, unable to distance herself from him any further.

He stepped closer until there were only inches between them, and placed his hands on the table on either side of her, enclosing her into a small space.

“Checkmate,” he whispered with a serious expression.

The warmth his body radiated was like the pull of a strong magnet, and she was just a small piece of cold metal with no reason to resist the tug. Bridgette leaned forward, not sure what she would do next. Lord Thornwood moved closer and tilted his head down. Her eyes closed as she tilted her head up.

A loud smash made Bridgette jump. “Oh no!” she cried when she saw the shattered dishes on the floor.

Lord Thornwood didn’t waste a moment, bending down to sweep up the pieces into a pile. “Hurry, if we bury the pieces in the garden, Edgar will never know.”

Bridgette couldn’t stop the snort that came out of her. “He counts the dishes. We will be found out.”

“You are right. At least there are no dishes for you to wash now.”

Bridgette helped pick up the pieces, careful not to cut herself on the sharp edges. Luckily, the pieces were mostly large and looked easy to have someone fix. “I suppose that was your goal, wasn’t it?” she asked with a laugh. She set the last of the shards on the table at the same time he did. Their fingers brushed, but neither of them pulled away.

“It wasn’t the only goal,” he said. Their eyes met, and she felt herself being drawn into him again. “Can I show you something?”

She nodded wordlessly. His hand found hers, and without hesitation, she laced her fingers between his. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it, but he ducked his head as if he were trying to hide a smile, and pulled her through the entrance hall and up the stairs. He moved with long strides as if he were in a hurry to get somewhere, or maybe in a hurry to get away from something. Bridgette had to run to keep up, but she didn’t mind. He brought her to the door of his painting room and paused. “Close your eyes,” he said. She did so, then heard the door creak open before her. With their hands still entwined, he gently tugged her forward. After a few steps, he stopped and said, “You can open them now.”

Bridgette opened her eyes and gasped. In front of her was a painting, propped up on an easel, of a young woman in a dark room. She stood by a window, where the sunlight made her skin and pinned-up hair glow. She wore a black and white maid’s uniform and smiled softly as she looked down at a simple yellow flower she held. “She is beautiful,” Bridgette said breathlessly.

“She is you,” Lord Thornwood said, squeezing her hand.

Bridgette’s bottom lip started to tremble, and her vision blurred with tears. She let go of his hand so she could turn away and wipe her tears. “Bridgette, have I offended you?”

She shook her head. “No, not at all.”

“Why are you crying?”

Bridgette blinked until her vision was clear and looked back at the artwork. “That is what you see when you look at me?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yes.”

The woman in the painting was stunning, even in her maid clothes and simple updo.

“I started it as soon as I got back to the manor after Edgar and I visited your cottage. I spent most of yesterday finishing it. That is why I was unable to come with Edgar to visit again. I was thrilled when I finally got the perfect hue to capture the way your hair looks in the sunlight. The best way I can describe it is: golden honey. I would paint the whole world in that color if I could,” he said with desperation. Bridgette looked at him, but his attention stayed on the painting. “You can ask Edgar how much I worried I wouldn’t finish in time. But I did. It still needs to dry though, so you can’t have it yet.”

“You are giving it to me?” Bridgette asked, still not understanding completely. Her heart felt like it might burst. She felt like she could cry for a hundred years. Lord Thornwood had painted a picture of her, and it was breathtaking.

“Would you like to know what it's called?”

“Yes,” she replied, looking at his masterpiece again.

“I call it ‘My Light’.”

Bridgette grasped at her chest as she felt her heart break in the most beautiful way.

“You told me to find my light, and in doing so, I realized my light had already found me.”

Bridgette wiped at her eyes again. “I have no words, Leander. I have never been given something so special.”

“Bridgette.”

She looked at him. “Yes?”

“I need to ask you something,” he said and took a deep breath.

“Okay,” she said.

She held her breath as he quietly moved closer to her. “The real purpose of today was to ask you—”

He stopped talking as the grandfather clock chimed loudly from the entrance hall. Bridgette counted eleven chimes and gasped. “How did it get so late? I, um, should get back to my mother and Birdie.” A look of disappointment flashed on Lord Thornwood’s face, and Bridgette immediately regretted her words. She stepped forward and took both of his hands. “This day has truly been a dream. I don’t want it to end, but I should get back to them.”

“Time is never on my side,” he said with a sigh but had a soft look in his green eye. “You do need to return to your mother. I will let Edgar know to get the carriage ready.” He turned towards the door, but kept hold of one of her hands.

“Wait,” she said with the terrible realization she was about to leave his company. He looked back at her with surprise. “Will you be coming? In the carriage?”

“Would you like me to?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

He smiled genuinely and said, “Then it is a good thing I was planning on it.”

Bridgette giddily bit her bottom lip as he led her out of the room to find Edgar, happy the night wasn’t over just yet.