are confined to a stage.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 16 August 1815
Was anyone in the theatre actually watching the stage?
Edith could feel every inch of her skin crawling as she sat in the box between Grace and Prue, her eyes fixed on the actors without seeing a single one of them. The whispers had been difficult to hear, but nothing she hadn’t heard before. The stares, however, were new.
Well, new for London. She’d gotten plenty of stares in York.
A familiar cold shiver ran up her spine as the memories of those stares flashed across her mind, and she suddenly felt small.
If only she were small. If only she could hide from all of this and still accomplish her designs.
How had she so completely underestimated Archie’s influence? Or the impact his death would have had on Society. If not Society, then at least her standing in it. A lesser-known widow of a man who moved in certain circles, however disreputable, and the rumors that would follow that widow.
Define that widow.
What had she been thinking? London had been the worst possible choice in location, the center of Society, why in the world had she come? Why had she chosen it? In theory, it was a place where one could get lost in plain sight, yet she had stayed in the ratty townhouse that belonged to Sir Archibald’s family. She had kept herself in the path of Sir Reginald and any other Leveson relation that might have come along to torment her.
This was her fault.
She could have truly hidden deep in the London darkness, were it not for her pride. She hadn’t thought that existed anymore. More the fool was she.
Gòrach…
Her father’s low, gravelly voice sounded in her mind, ricocheting off every surface, calling her foolish yet again. That had been his only response to her refusals to marry Archie.
Foolish.
And those foolish refusals had been flatly ignored. Her wishes had meant nothing, and her will had been crushed. There was no pride left in her from the day she’d first set foot in England, nor as she was dragged down the aisle of the church, nor as she watched her family abandon her to the care of her new husband.
Archie’s death had been a beacon of hope. An opportunity for freedom. She hadn’t realized then that it would only lead to more shackles.
Perhaps that was where her pride had snuck in. She couldn’t afford it anymore; it had to go.
Edith exhaled slowly, praying they would soon reach intermission. She needed to walk, to stretch her legs, to clear her mind, to get out of sight of so many who were only speculating about her.
Breathe, mo nighean. Breathe.
On command, Edith inhaled a carefully controlled breath, finding with it the refreshment hearing her grandmother’s voice always brought her.
“Are you all right, Edith?” Prue whispered softly beside her, placing one small hand over Edith’s tightly laced fingers in her lap.
“Aye,” Edith replied on an almost controlled exhale. “I believe I will slip out for a wee moment, though.” She nodded and rose only so far as a crouch, slipping around her chair and between the gentlemen seated behind them.
“Edith?”
She waved Aubrey, Lord Ingram, back into his seat. “I shall only be a moment; stay as you are.”
His expression told her how he felt about the suggestion, but she didn’t linger to see or hear any further response.
Out in the corridor, Edith’s breath came faster and with more aggression. Her lungs squeezed and released with agonizing pain, and it was all she could do to attempt to control them.
Inhale… exhale… inhale… exhale…
Music from the stage wafted out into the corridor, and something about the strains, faint as they were, soothed her. The frantic pace of her mind settled, the air in her lungs entered and exited with more ease, and the pounding in her head began to recede. Walking became easier, and slowly, Edith continued to move, keeping her breathing as steady as she could and letting the music continue to calm her.
Despite the comments and stares of people, the course before her was the right one. The only one, really. She alone had made the choices in her life, and there was no point in regretting them. She had done the best she could under horrific circumstances, and no one would judge her for that if they knew the truth of the situation.
Which no one did.
Edith sighed heavily and paused near a column, leaning her back against it as she thought back to Scotland, its beauty and majesty,