The question was how I could escape my inevitable fate. Thomas might have liked my looks, I might have even been able to convince him to fall in love with me, but just like Henry had said, as a mistress I would have been acceptable, never as a wife. Not even if Thomas fell head over heels in love with me. I wasn't part of their world, and I never would be.
I punched my pillow for the hundredth time that night, thinking about the unfairness of life. My father would force me to marry Thomas, who would send me to an asylum for the mentally insane. And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
Without money, I couldn't run away. No, that wasn't entirely true. Evenwithmoney, it would have been hard for me to run away. As a single woman, I would be scrutinized wherever I went—the perfect victim for any pickpocket, highway robber, murderer...
Briefly, I contemplated marrying someone else. Anyone else. Confronting my father and Thomas with a fait accompli. Thatwould serve them right, but it would also put me in the same predicament, married to a man who could do whatever he pleased with me. Besides, who would I choose? The baker? He had been insinuating a marriage for years. Then what? Have a bunch of babies? Get up at the crack of dawn to bake bread? No thank you.
Joining a convent. That sounded as appealing as being sent to the nuthouse. No thank you.
I sighed and punched the pillow again. I was a woman. A woman with dreams of her own. I wanted to go to Egypt. I wanted to be part of excavations. I wanted to see ancient ruins. Nobody ever asked me what I wanted. For a moment, those dreams had been within my fingers' reach. Last night, when Thomas confided he was enamored with ancient Egypt as well, it felt as if the universe were finally on my side. Unfortunately, it didn't last long.
What I needed was a plan.
I just had no idea what sort of plan.
Abigail. I needed to talk to my best friend. She was so much more conniving than me. She knew how to manipulate people to get what she wanted. She had been married for a year now, and her husband did all her bidding.You just have to know how, she had confided and winked. Sadly, I had no idea how.
I closed my eyes. Yes, Abigail. Sunday. I would see her on Sunday.
Tomorrow, Thomas was still taking me to Piccadilly to see the mummy unwrapping show. Something I had dreamed of doing for a long time. I decided I might as well enjoy it; I might as well get all the living in while I still had a chance.
With that thought, I cried myself to sleep. I woke with bleary eyes late the next morning to another day of endless fussing. The seamstresses returned with more dresses that needed to be tried on and adjusted. I was getting more dresses than I had everowned in my entire life. That morning though, I couldn't muster the enthusiasm that had filled me the previous days. Whenever I put on a new dress, I wondered if I would even get to wear it. Would it rot away in my closet after Thomas put me away?
One seamstress noticed me sniffling. "Are you alright, mistress?"
"I'm fine," I forced a smile to my lips, "I think I'm coming down with a cold, that's all."
My words turned the conversation to colds making the rounds in London and how someone's cousin swore by Irish whiskey and lemons combined with honey. Glad the conversation had shifted from me, I resumed my gloomy thoughts until they left and Prudence arrived to resume her endless teachings of etiquette. Once again, I found myself wondering why I even bothered. It wasn't like the people at court would notice my efforts. They would only all too gleefully harp on any mistakes I would make.
"How do you deal with the ladies who snob you?" I asked her.
"A lady would never snob another unless given reason to," Prudence explained haughtily. "Which is why it is so important for you to learn to put your little finger away from the cup handle." She pushed the end of her always-present ruler against my little finger to emphasize her point.
After endless hours of practicing correct posture and memorizing how to address the highborn, it was finally time to prepare myself for tonight.
Punctual as before and with an appreciative smile that almost made me doubt the veracity of the overheard conversation with Henry, Thomas waited for me at the foot of the stairs like the previous night.
"You look stunning, Roweena." He complimented me.
I didn't have to force a smile to my lips at his words. How could someone be so charming and so conniving? Iallowed myself to get wrapped up in his charismatic presence, stubbornly set on enjoying this evening. A stupid part in me, a stupid, childish part, insisted that maybe, just maybe, I could win him over with my charms. Could there be a chance for us after all?
He was so nice and attentive in the carriage, asking me about my day and laughing with me when I told him about the many needles and how somehow one always seemed to prick me. He related stories of his tailor and even showed me a small scar on his arm where one especially sharp needle had scratched him so deep, the wound had to be stitched.
"I made the tailor do it since I already knew he was good with seams," Thomas laughed, and I fell in with it. I declared how brave he must have been. His eyes twinkled in merriment, and he even said, "You know, I think we could be really happy together."
I grinned at him like an idiot. "Me too."
My hopes soared that there was a chance for us, that he wouldn't follow through with his evil plans.
"Have you thought about where you would like to go for our honeymoon?" He wanted to know.
"Egypt," I instantly replied, before my face turned flaming red. "I'm sorry, I?—"
He laughed, "No reason to be embarrassed, my sweet. I'm just so happy that we are in agreement on this."
"Truly?" My eyes must have been as big as saucers.
"Truly," he took my hand and brought my fingers up to his lips to kiss them, sending shivers down my body and creating a strange fluttering sensation in my stomach that wasn't entirely unpleasant.
