Clarissa turned to her, eyes still wide with apprehension. “I see my brother is here as well. Or rather, my half brother. He’s my— It does not matter. But I should greet him first, I think. And then—” Her eyes darted over toward Sebastian. “Then I shall speak with Lord Blackwood.”
Estella nodded amiably. At least, she hoped this frozen smile and bobbing of her head seemed amiable. After all, it wasn’t this young lady’s fault that she’d been a fool.
“Excellent,” she said. What was excellent? She was not sure. But then, because her voice seemed to be wavering dangerously, she added brightly, “If you’ll excuse me, I've just remembered. I need to speak with the duchess about… something.”
It was the best excuse she could think of, considering her brain had stopped thinking.
Clarissa smiled. "Yes, of course. Thank you. For your guidance, but also for your reassurances about Lord Blackwood’s character. I feel much less frightened now. I do hope we’ll see each other again."
Estella’s smile would most definitely split her face in two. Her cheeks hurt, and her eyes stung with unshed tears, but she still managed a parting, "I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon."
And often. Because Clarissa would be at every event, on Sebastian's arm, in Sebastian's home, in Sebastian's life. And Estella would smile and curtsy and pretend that her chest wasn't caving in every time she saw them together, because that was what she did.
She made the best of her situation. She did what was needed to survive and take care of her family.
It was that thought she clung to as she aimed her feet in the opposite direction of Lord Blackwood and his new fiancée.
She found the duchess near the refreshment table. The duchess took one look at her face and her expression shifted from social pleasantry to something sharp and focused. "What is it?"
"I'm not feeling well," Estella said. "Might I use your carriage?"
The duchess opened her mouth, but whatever she saw in Estella's face stopped her. She simply nodded and summoned a footman.
In the carriage, Estella sat very still with her hands clasped in her lap.
Tell me something true.
The carriage did not take her to the duchess's townhouse. She'd given the driver a different address. She'd go back to the place that needed her. The place where she was not a project or a problem to be solved.
The place where she was loved.
The Hale townhouse was dark and quiet. When a confused maid appeared, Estella heard her own voice requesting that a message be sent to the duchess's home so she did not worry. The maid nodded and hurried off.
She made it to the drawing room and stood beside the cold fireplace. She smoothed her pretty new gown and clasped her hands and held very, very still.
She'd stood like this at Andrew's funeral, she recalled. Holding herself together by sheer force of will because if she let even one crack form, the whole structure would come down.
But this time the thing she was holding together wasn't her family. It was her heart.
She'd been so sure. She'd followed the duchess's advice. She'd watched his actions instead of listening to his words, and every single thing she'd seen had told her the same story.
She'd interpreted all of it as love, because she'd wanted it to be love. And that wanting had blinded her as thoroughly as Fairchild's charm ever had. She'd done the exact thing the duchess had warned her about, only in reverse.
A creak on the stairs. "Estella?"
Charlotte stood in the doorway in her nightgown, her hair a tangle of fair curls, her feet bare on the wooden floor.
"Why are you home?" Charlotte padded into the room, squinting in the dim light. "Where did you come from? You look very pretty." She studied Estella's face with frank scrutiny. "What happened?"
Estella looked at her sister. "I made a mistake, Charlotte."
Her voice came out steady. Almost.
"What happened?" Charlotte crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Estella. "Did someone hurt you?"
Estella shook her head. "Not like that. It was me. I…I trusted someone I shouldn’t have."
"The duchess?"
