combination that will persuade Maman to at least hear me out about Antoine. I’m being rude, hardly paying attention to Etienne, until I catch something about our families’ long friendship and the high regard he holds me in. Then my eyes snap to his. He looks so — earnest.
My fingers turn to ice in my lap.
“I have the utmost admiration for you — the utmost respect,” he says. “I’d be a good husband to you. A good provider. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, Maddie?”
I suppose if I’d been paying attention, I would have known this was coming.
“I — I’m very honored,” I start. My gaze drops to the wooden floor. I don’t want to hurt him. I like Etienne. When I’m not being such a scatterbrain, we talk easily enough; he makes me laugh. But my heart doesn’t pound, my stomach doesn’t tumble, my skin doesn’t
thrill
at his touch. Now that I know how love feels, how can I give it up for something so — comfortable?
“This is all very sudden,” I lie.
Etienne nods, tapping long, elegant fingers against his fawn-colored trousers. “Of course. You need time to think.”
I can’t bear the polite fiction of it, the notion that I’m a silly, fragile mademoiselle too shocked by this turn of events to know her own mind. “I’m in love with someone else,” I blurt.
He winces. “Who?” And for a moment, it’s like we’re children again. Honest. Then: “Forgive me. That’s none of my concern. I thought — your father led me to believe you were unattached.”
I bite my lip, clenching a fistful of my yellow cotton skirt. There’s a little tear in the hem; I’ll have to sew it later.
“Papa doesn’t know.”
Etienne’s eyes widen. “You’ve betrothed yourself without your father’s permission?”
“No. Not — not officially,” I stammer. How did I get myself into this muddle? I can’t tell Etienne that it isn’t marriage I’m considering.
What would he think of me?
Etienne is a kind man, a good man, and he would think less of me for it.
It slices into me, the sudden surety that my parents will too. Why else have I been hiding it from them? You don’t need to hide something unless it’s shameful. Maman will look at me the same way she looks at Madame Dalcour, at Eugenie. As a girl who would sell her own virtue.
But it isn’t about the money to me, or the position. It’s about the way I feel when I’m with Antoine.
What I have done is disgraceful. I have been deceitful and disobedient.
But I’d do it again for the chance to have him hold me in his arms like I’m something precious, like the porcelain dolls Eugenie’s father brought her back from France. Antoine makes me feel beautiful. Desired. He could have his pick of any of the girls in that ballroom, and he chose me.
Is it love I feel, or pride? That he chose me — tall, dark, voluptuous — rather than pretty little light-skinned Eugenie?
I fidget, tugging at one of my puffed sleeves. Now that I’ve told Etienne, it feels even more real — not just something I’ve dreamed up. “Please don’t say anything to my father. I need to talk to Maman first.”
“Of course. It’s none of my —” Etienne interrupts himself with a shake of his curly head. He stands, lean and graceful. “That isn’t true. What happens to you
does
concern me. We’ve been friends since we were children. I want you to be happy, Maddie.”
I remember my mother’s smile, the way she shoved me toward the parlor. Etienne is what my parents want for me.
“I don’t know what to say,” I manage, finally, stupidly.
“Then don’t say no. Think about it,” he urges.
I nod — because I’m a coward, because it’s easier — and then he’s gone. The door creaks shut behind him. Maman comes in a moment later.
“Etienne left with such a scowl. What happened?” she asks.
I avoid her gaze. “I told him I couldn’t marry him.”
“What? Why not?” She plants her hands on her wide hips. “Etienne is a good
My fingers turn to ice in my lap.
“I have the utmost admiration for you — the utmost respect,” he says. “I’d be a good husband to you. A good provider. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, Maddie?”
I suppose if I’d been paying attention, I would have known this was coming.
“I — I’m very honored,” I start. My gaze drops to the wooden floor. I don’t want to hurt him. I like Etienne. When I’m not being such a scatterbrain, we talk easily enough; he makes me laugh. But my heart doesn’t pound, my stomach doesn’t tumble, my skin doesn’t
thrill
at his touch. Now that I know how love feels, how can I give it up for something so — comfortable?
“This is all very sudden,” I lie.
Etienne nods, tapping long, elegant fingers against his fawn-colored trousers. “Of course. You need time to think.”
I can’t bear the polite fiction of it, the notion that I’m a silly, fragile mademoiselle too shocked by this turn of events to know her own mind. “I’m in love with someone else,” I blurt.
He winces. “Who?” And for a moment, it’s like we’re children again. Honest. Then: “Forgive me. That’s none of my concern. I thought — your father led me to believe you were unattached.”
I bite my lip, clenching a fistful of my yellow cotton skirt. There’s a little tear in the hem; I’ll have to sew it later.
“Papa doesn’t know.”
Etienne’s eyes widen. “You’ve betrothed yourself without your father’s permission?”
“No. Not — not officially,” I stammer. How did I get myself into this muddle? I can’t tell Etienne that it isn’t marriage I’m considering.
What would he think of me?
Etienne is a kind man, a good man, and he would think less of me for it.
It slices into me, the sudden surety that my parents will too. Why else have I been hiding it from them? You don’t need to hide something unless it’s shameful. Maman will look at me the same way she looks at Madame Dalcour, at Eugenie. As a girl who would sell her own virtue.
But it isn’t about the money to me, or the position. It’s about the way I feel when I’m with Antoine.
What I have done is disgraceful. I have been deceitful and disobedient.
But I’d do it again for the chance to have him hold me in his arms like I’m something precious, like the porcelain dolls Eugenie’s father brought her back from France. Antoine makes me feel beautiful. Desired. He could have his pick of any of the girls in that ballroom, and he chose me.
Is it love I feel, or pride? That he chose me — tall, dark, voluptuous — rather than pretty little light-skinned Eugenie?
I fidget, tugging at one of my puffed sleeves. Now that I’ve told Etienne, it feels even more real — not just something I’ve dreamed up. “Please don’t say anything to my father. I need to talk to Maman first.”
“Of course. It’s none of my —” Etienne interrupts himself with a shake of his curly head. He stands, lean and graceful. “That isn’t true. What happens to you
does
concern me. We’ve been friends since we were children. I want you to be happy, Maddie.”
I remember my mother’s smile, the way she shoved me toward the parlor. Etienne is what my parents want for me.
“I don’t know what to say,” I manage, finally, stupidly.
“Then don’t say no. Think about it,” he urges.
I nod — because I’m a coward, because it’s easier — and then he’s gone. The door creaks shut behind him. Maman comes in a moment later.
“Etienne left with such a scowl. What happened?” she asks.
I avoid her gaze. “I told him I couldn’t marry him.”
“What? Why not?” She plants her hands on her wide hips. “Etienne is a good
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