Inside Aimée, something unfurled and expanded like wings. “But what about . . .”
“My costume? You can have it.”
“Mr. Hartfell,” Aimée said gently.
“You can have him, too. Oh . . .” Julia frowned. “Except he’s not here anymore.”
Aimée’s heart tripped. She was glad she was sitting down. “Not here?”
“He departed for Fair Hill before breakfast this morning. In a very great hurry, Mama said, leaving all his things behind. I expect his servant will return to pack them.”
Aimée barely heard. Her brain was numb. Her face felt frozen. “This morning.”
After she had gone to his room. After she had told him she loved him.
“Are you disappointed? I wondered if perhaps you fancied him. Tom said Hartfell fancied you.” Julia’s pretty face creased. “But I suppose he couldn’t have, could he, if he’s gone.”
“No.” Aimée forced the word through stiff lips. “I suppose he couldn’t.”
He had not said he loved her, she reminded herself. The omission had barely registered at the time. She had felt his love in every touch, with every breath, flooding her soul, imprinted on her flesh.
The room blurred with rainbow colors. She blinked fiercely. She had been very foolish, it seemed.
“Never mind,” Julia said kindly. “If Hartfell doesn’t like you, you’ll find another man who will. There will be plenty to choose from at the ball tonight.”
“I’m not going to the ball,” Aimée said.
How could she dance when her heart was breaking?
“Oh, but you must.” Julia swooped and enveloped her in a scented hug. “I’m so happy, Amy,” she whispered. “I want you to be happy, too.”
Aimée closed her eyes and leaned her head against Julia’s shoulder, overwhelmed by the genuine affection in her cousin’s embrace.
She was loved, after all.
Not by the man she longed for. Not in the way she’d believed.
But just because her heart was broken didn’t mean her life was over. Life, after all, was a gift. Lucien had taught her that. What she made of it was up to her.
Her throat ached. Her eyes burned.
If only it didn’t hurt so much.
Aimée teetered on the stairs of the great hall, off balance in her jewel trimmed heels and glittering wings.
It had required the better part of two hours and the best efforts of the second housemaid to lace her into Julia’s discarded costume. Aimée had sent her regrets for dinner, aware that Lady Basing would be upset at having her table arranagements disturbed. But Aimée had needed time to compose her face and her feelings.
Anyway, she had no appetite.
She shivered as she edged down the staircase. Outside the windows, snow was falling, white on black. Tonight the house would be filled to the rafters with stranded guests.
The weather did not seem to have dampened anyone’s spirits. Strains of music drifted into the hall along with the hum of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter.
Carriage wheels crunched on the gravel outside. Sir Walter and Lady Basing had already joined their guests in the ballroom. But it appeared Aimée was not the last arrival, after all.
She hovered like a butterfly on the stairs, uncertain whether to retreat or step forward to welcome the last guest.
The footmen hurried forward to fling open the door. Cold air swirled. Candles flickered. The butler bowed low.