It was Miss Johnson. Miss Johnson wore a demure pastel purple that should have seemed washed out next to her friend’s exuberantly-colored silk. But she glowed in it, the picture of beauty, good health, and perfection.
The women were looking at Amanda in something like horror. No surprise there—she’d just told them about the fire, the threat to Free’s newspaper, and Free’s plan, which would require them to host a massive soireé on not even a week’s notice.
“Of course we’ll help,” Mrs. Marshall said stoutly. “Any way we can.”
Of course they would. It was, after all, Free that they cared about. The thought of helping Free had Miss Johnson glowing in excitement.
“We shall be extremely busy,” Mrs. Marshall said.
Miss Johnson smiled. “I don’t mind. And there’s an added benefit.” She turned to Amanda. “Lady Amanda, I shall finally have you at one of my parties. After all this time! What a triumph that will be for me.”
Amanda felt almost dizzy. “Oh, no,” she said. “No. Of course I’m honored, but no, I couldn’t. It’s imposition enough to ask you to do such a thing in so short a time. I could not expect an invitation.”
“Don’t be silly.” Mrs. Marshall frowned at her. “You’re asking us to invite hundreds. One more could hardly signify. And you’re a friend of the family twice over—once through Free, and again through your Aunt Violet.”
“I couldn’t,” Amanda said again.
But Mrs. Marshall shook her head. “Of course you could.”
“I couldn’t,” Amanda repeated.
“But—”
“Jane.” Miss Johnson set a hand on her employer’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go speak to the staff and inform them of what is to come? I’ll talk with Lady Amanda.”
No. Amanda felt her eyes widen in panic, but she could hardly cling to Mrs. Marshall and beg her to stay. What was she to say? I’m afraid of your secretary. She’s too pretty.
“But—” Mrs. Marshall started.
Miss Johnson looked over at her and pursed her lips. Something must have passed between them, because Mrs. Marshall sighed.
“Yes,” she said, “of course, Genevieve.”
The door closed on her. It did not make an ominous, resounding thud; it shut with an almost inaudible snick.
Miss Johnson turned to Amanda. “I didn’t think when I insisted earlier. Do you have anything to wear? All your things must have been burned in the fire.”
Amanda wished she had that excuse. But no, Genevieve would volunteer to find something for her, and being fitted for clothing with the impeccable Miss Johnson watching would be altogether too much for Amanda’s composure. “I have a suitable frock,” she choked out. “At my aunt’s house.”
Miss Johnson’s face grew more sober. “Then is it me?” She looked down. “I hope I’ve done nothing to make you feel unwelcome. You must know I think highly of you. Very highly.”
Oh, that was not helping matters. Amanda gulped in air. “It’s not you.” And that was only a little bit of a lie; after all, it wasn’t Genevieve herself who posed the problem. It was simply everything she represented. “I just don’t go out in society any longer.”
“No?” Miss Johnson frowned. “Why not?”
Amanda looked away. “The last time I did was years ago. I arrived at an event with my aunt. My sister was there.” Amanda’s hands balled into fists of their own accord. “My parents had tossed me out two years before, when I refused to marry. They thought I would bend to their will eventually. I didn’t.” She swallowed. “I hadn’t seen my sister since then.”
She hadn’t seen anyone in her family in years, and she’d missed them terribly.
“I caught a glimpse of her across the room. I had known she was out, had hoped to be able to speak with her. I started toward her. And she looked the other way and walked away from me.”
Miss Johnson inhaled.
Amanda looked down. “At first, I assumed it was an accident—a coincidence, that she’d just not seen me. So I found her in the cloakroom at the end. And she told me…”
She could still hear Maria’s words, as plain as if they’d just been spoken.
You ruined my life, Amanda. You’re ruining it just being here, making everyone whisper about you and what you’ve chosen. You walked away from the family once. I wish you’d do it again, and this time for good.
“She told me she never wanted to see me. That my very presence was a cause for gossip.” Amanda couldn’t look at Miss Johnson. “After that, it all began to crumble. Every time I went out in society, every time I spoke, I could just hear her words. I could feel myself ruining everything for her. Just by speaking, by sitting in the wrong room. By breathing.”
It sounded so foolish when she said it.
“So it’s that simple. Every time I’m in polite company now, I feel unwanted. And I know that sounds as if I’m asking for sympathy. I’m not. I made a choice, and I don’t regret it. I just wish…”
Miss Johnson leaned across the table. That didn’t help either—her physical presence set Amanda on edge, her entire body lighting up in response. Her lungs hurt with the effort of taking in air.