Page 20 of Dropping the Ball

Bernadette sighed as she finished her letter, dried the ink, then folded the bulky missive and addressed it to the East Anglian embassy in Christiana, Norway. The last few days that she had spent at Lyndhurst Grove had been some of the most wonderful and most difficult of her life. It felt desperately wrong to write of some things but not others. It would have felt more wrong not to write at all. She had a duty to fulfill, that much was certain. More bittersweet still, Hethersett was her friend and had been for more than a decade, regardless of what her heart felt now. He would know something was amiss if she failed to write at all.

Her chest squeezed as she stared at the envelope on her writing desk after addressing it. For all these many years, she had been content with the way things were, even though she had chosen none of it. But now Alden had arrived in her life and changed everything with his bright smile and his eccentric ways. He was wonderful, but he had upset the precarious balance of Bernadette’s life.

She spread her hand across the envelope in front of her, holding her breath. A choice lay in front of her, she was certain. Did she remain true to a promise made for her in her youth or did she destroy herself, her family, and everyone’s reputations for a chance to love?

It felt very much like the fate of everything rested on her slender shoulders.

Bernadette shook her head and stood, taking up the letter as she did. It was selfish of her to dwell on her own trials and tribulations when Alden needed her to be clever and organized. They had decided on a date for the ball just the day before,when the chief workman gave his daily progress report and an estimation of when he thought the guestrooms would be habitable. Bernadette had been shocked when the man had informed them that all would be ready by mid-September, which was less than a month away. Alden had seemed eager to have the ball as soon as possible, however, and so the weekend of September fifteenth had been decided upon.

Bernadette could not decide if she wished the intervening weeks to fly by so that she could have her heartbreak and disappointment over with as soon as possible and move on with her life, or if she wished the weekend of the ball would never come. She teetered daily on the precipice of allowing herself to pretend the purpose of the ball was innocent and believing Alden was consulting her on every detail because of an understanding between the two of them.

None of it was doing Bernadette any good, particularly considering Hethersett’s place in the equation. She would be wise to put all romantic considerations out of her mind and to complete the task she’d been hired to perform.

Throwing a shawl around her shoulders, since the day was a bit cool, she headed downstairs.

“Mr. Smythe, would you kindly see that this letter is delivered?” she asked as she handed the letter to the young butler, who happened to be in the front hall.

“Yes, my lady,” Mr. Smythe said with a bright smile, bowing to her as if she were the lady of the house.

Ill-advised as it was to pretend, Bernadette smiled at Mr. Smythe, and with all the grace she could manage, asked, “Could you perhaps send my tea into the terrarium, Mr. Smythe? I will be addressing invitations for the ball today, so there will be more letters to go out with the afternoon post.”

“Yes, my lady,” Mr. Smythe said with another bow. “I’ll have Mrs. Pettigrew or one of the maids bring your tea right away.Cook made raspberry tarts this morning after a little birdie told her they are your favorites.”

“Oh?” Bernadette said, brightening. “That was very kind of her. Please send her my sincerest thanks.”

It was far too easy for Bernadette to make-believe the ball was long past and Alden had chosen her as his bride. It felt so natural for her to assume the role of lady of the house. The servants seemed to feel the fantasy as well, as a few of them greeted her with deference as she made her way to the table in the terrarium. It would have been a wonderful life, and Bernadette was certain she and Alden and the entire household would have been happy … if only it were possible.

Bernadette’s gentle, happy mood was shaken as she made her way along the terrarium path towards the table only to find Alden standing in the garden bed just to the side of her workspace. He appeared to be tying back one of the exotic shrubs, or perhaps investigating whatever creature lived between its branches.

For a moment, Bernadette paused to observe Alden. He was without a jacket and had his sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. Despite being in Wessex and not the Amazon, his skin was tanned, and he had the healthy glow of a man who spent his time out of doors. As he stepped back from the shrub and squatted to retrieve something from the ground, the fabric of his breeches pulled tight across his thighs and backside, and Bernadette caught her breath.

Her observations of Alden were betrayed when a flickering in the grass beside Alden gave way to a dart of green as Egbert shot towards her. Bernadette swallowed hard and continued forward, certain her face was bright red, as Alden stood and turned to her.

“Bernadette,” he said, his expression morphing from contemplative to happy. “I missed you at breakfast this morning.”

Bernadette’s heart beat so hard she was certain Alden could see it through the light fichu she wore, despite the humid warmth of the terrarium. “I had some personal correspondences to write this morning that required concentration, so I took breakfast in my room,” she said, face heating even more as she remembered the confessions she’d almost made in her letter to Hethersett. “I hope you do not mind.”

She moved deliberately to the table, putting it between her and Alden so that she would not be tempted to rush into his arms and beg him to carry her away to South America, so that she might abandon the responsibilities of Britannia. Egbert scrambled up the table and flicked his tongue at her, as if asking to be picked up.

“I think I can find it within myself to forgive you,” Alden said, teasing her with a look, as he stepped out of the grassy garden bed. His smile was a wickedness unto itself, but combined with his lack of a neckcloth and the top buttons of his shirt undone, Bernadette had to sink quickly into her chair at the table to stop herself from melting into a pile on the flagstones. “I spent the greater part of the morning looking over the rooms that have been finished and directing the workers to begin on the parlors as well.”

Bernadette gripped the edge of the table as she glanced up at Alden in surprise, as if she needed its iron stability. Egbert took that opportunity to run up her arm to her shoulder. “They are finished with the guestrooms already?”

“With the first floor, yes,” Alden said with a nod. He came to the table and gripped the back of one of the chairs across from her. “They’ll begin on the second floor next week, but I thought it would be best for them to see to some of the smaller parlors first.”

He paused, and the two of them met eyes and simply stared at each other with longing for a moment. The entire terrarium seemed to hold still, leaning toward them in expectation.

Then Bernadette looked away and reached for the stationery Alden had provided her with as Alden cleared his throat and picked at a spot on the back of the chair he held.

“The furnishings in nearly all of the parlors are structurally sound, but I should like to send a few of the sofas and chairs out to be reupholstered. If I have fabric samples brought in, would you be so kind as to choose how they should all be redone?”

Bernadette’s heart fluttered. Egbert must have felt it, as he flickered his tongue at her like he would catch the butterflies within her. Choosing fabric with which to reupholster furnishings was the sort of thing a wife would do.

“I would happily give you my opinion,” she said, fiddling nervously with the edge of the invitation she was about to address.

Alden seemed to become aware of the task in front of her. “Oh, I am sorry. I should let you be about your own business while I handle mine,” he said.

“It is no bother,” Bernadette said, frustrated by the awkwardness that had sprung up between them, even as they grew closer by the day. “I’ve made the guest list, you approved it yesterday, and today I merely need to address the invitations so that Mr. Smythe might send them out.”

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