Marrying Christopher (46 page)

“I am grateful to be here,” Marsali said.

“You know what I wish to ask?”

She caught the slightest bit of uncertainty in his words, and it both surprised her and melted the resistance she felt.
I cannot hurt him.

“I am prepared to answer,” she said, mustering courage as she never had before. “Yes, Mr. Vancer, I will marry you.”

A corner of his mouth lifted in a slow smile. “That was
much
easier than I expected. I did not even have to ask.”

“You didn’t—” She brought her hands to her face, mortified. She had been so worried that she would not be able to tell him yes, so focused on what she must say so as not to hurt him, not to disappoint Charlotte or upset Lady Cosgrove, not to ruin her own life, that she had spoken out of turn. Grossly out of turn.

Mr. Vancer pulled Marsali’s hands from her face and did not release them. “I am not sorry in the least,” he said. “I had worried that you were not ready yet. I am vastly relieved to discover that you are, and that you are as eager as I am for our marriage.”

She cringed internally.

“And now I am eager to share our good news with the others. Shall we go in to the ball?” He stood, then held his hand out to her. She took it, and he helped her up. They went out into the hall.

“I will speak to the musicians about halting after this set— so we can share our good news with our guests.”

“Go ahead,” she urged. “I’ll wait here.” As soon as he had left her side and began crossing the room to the musicians’ dais, Marsali stepped into one of the curtained alcoves adjoining the vast ballroom.

Turning her back to the entrance, she tugged off her glove, then stared down at her hand. Christopher’s ring peered up at her, bringing a rush of tears. She looked away, hoping for something in the tiny room to take her mind from the past she so easily slipped into. Through the lone, square window she saw that the drizzle outside continued, as it had for the past several days. She longed to be outside in it, to remember the smell of rain and the feel of the cool drops on her skin as she had stood on deck and spoken her wedding vows with Christopher.

This is hopeless.
Marsali squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memory away. How was she supposed to look to the future when everything reminded her of the past and Christopher? She would have to do something to change that.

She opened her eyes and quickly twisted the ring from her finger, then dropped it into the bodice of her dress and replaced the glove.

Christopher is dead. I am no longer his wife.
She could not wear his ring if she was to marry another. She must do as Charlotte directed and give Mr. Vancer a proper chance.

Marsali blinked back her tears, straightened her back, and returned to the ballroom, determined, now that she had agreed to marry Mr. Vancer, to make the choice to love him. She would begin tonight. By smiling and laughing with him, staying at his side, and hanging on his every word. She would dance with him and do all in her power to be a delight to him. It was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. And so she would endeavor to do it well. After all…

At least one of us should be happy.

Hurrying through the drizzle, Christopher donned his mask and walked briskly toward the entrance to Mr. Vancer’s ballroom.
If my sisters could see me now
,
he thought for probably the hundredth time since leaving England. They would not have believed— he hardly could— that he had purposely dressed in costume and was eager to attend a ball.

Upon learning that Charlotte had been picked up by a carriage belonging to one William Vancer of New York City— just hours before Christopher had arrived at her home— he had set off, following her by wagon, foot, borrowed horse, and ferry, believing there was only one place she could be going and one person she could be going to see.

But why did Lady Cosgrove not send me notice?
Perhaps she had and Miss Thomas had intercepted that correspondence as well. Regardless, whatever barriers had stood between him and Marsali finding one another, Christopher felt them slipping away. He felt infused with purpose and more alive than he had for many weeks. Very soon— moments now?— he would see Marsali and hold her in his arms once more.

He tugged at the suit his former New Jersey landlady had kindly lent him when he’d stopped at her boarding house for a precious few hours’ sleep and a bath. He clutched the muddied card that had fallen from heaven, so to speak, after he had spent an hour posing as a servant hired to help outside for the evening, desperately trying to determine how he might gain entrance to the mansion. Just when he had almost given up and was assisting with the unloading of what he had decided was his last carriage full of guests, he’d found a card and mask that had fallen into the rain-soaked street as the overly excited and flustered occupants of the carriage had disembarked. The ink on the card was now blurred, and Christopher’s heart leapt at this fortunate turn of events. The name of the guest it had belonged to was no longer legible, though it was still obvious that the invitation was for tonight’s festivities. A masquerade ball… honoring Miss Marsali Abbott.

Christopher handed the card to the servant stationed at the ballroom and made his apologies for its condition, citing the rainy weather they had been having. He was given a brief nod in return and moved easily into the ballroom.
No name required.
Perhaps things were done differently here in America. Or perhaps it seemed unlikely that a gentleman would attend a masquerade ball if it was not required that he attend.

Letting out a long breath of relief, Christopher scanned the ballroom for Marsali. He did not see her but on his second pass across the room discovered Lady Cosgrove busily chatting with a group of other women. Even in costume she was impossible to miss, with that ramrod-straight back of hers. With purposeful strides, he started toward her, mask in place.

He waited patiently until a lull in the conversation, then gently touched her elbow. She turned to him and looked him over, a puzzled expression just visible behind her own mask.

“Good evening, Lady Cosgrove.” He inclined his head, allowing his own mask to slip a little so she might see him better.

A hand flew to her chest. “Excuse me, ladies,” she said to the other three women congregated with her. “Come with me,” she said under her breath and began leading him to a more secluded corner of the ballroom.

“
What
are you doing here?” she demanded when they had reached the relative privacy of an alcove.

“I have come to find my wife— perhaps share a dance or two and then take her home with me
.
” Home was currently a room at a boarding house, but he knew it wouldn’t matter to Marsali.

“Shh.” Lady Cosgrove pressed a finger to her lips. “Do you wish the entire ballroom to hear our conversation?”

He would shout his request to the entire room if she did not cooperate and tell him where he might find Marsali. “Just show me where Marsali is, and we will leave— together.”

“You cannot. She is— no longer your wife,” Lady Cosgrove stammered.

“What do you mean?” Panic flared, though reason told him that Marsali was not dead. Masquerade balls were not held in honor of deceased persons.

Lady Cosgrove bit down on her lip and brought a hand to her head as if in a great deal of pain. “She thinks you deceased,” she said finally. “And Mr. Vancer is set to publicly announce their betrothal at this moment.”

“What of your daughter?” Christopher asked, momentarily brushing aside the crushing pain of Lady Cosgrove’s announcement and all its implications, not the least of which felt like betrayal from Marsali. “Is Miss Cosgrove not to marry Mr. Vancer?”

“Lydia is dead,” Lady Cosgrove said, a slight catch in her voice. She removed her mask and looked up at him, a plea in her eyes. “When we landed in New York I told the authorities that Marsali was Lydia, and so we were both brought here. At the time Marsali was not coherent enough to protest, but I did it for her as much as myself. I kept her from Mr. Thomas. As soon as she was well again, she insisted Mr. Vancer know the truth. And these three months we have been here with him, they have fallen in love.”

A knife to Christopher’s heart could not have hurt any worse. “You never told her that I came?”

“No,” Lady Cosgrove admitted with a shake of her head. “At first I was afraid that if Marsali left, I should be asked to leave as well. And then, when I knew that was not a concern, and when you came to find her, I feared for Marsali. I have come to care for her too, you see. Your injuries were so that I did not think you could provide for her. I imagined her toiling long hours each day, the two of you barely getting by with enough to eat, let alone a home to live in or any kind of a decent life. She was meant for better than that. She wasn’t born to be a servant. You said so yourself.”

“You lied to us both because you thought she would be better off here, living a life of luxury.” Christopher grabbed Lady Cosgrove’s arm and pulled her toward him. “Did you never once think that ought to be her choice? Do you have any idea what I have been through, not knowing whether Marsali was alive or dead— whether she was alone somewhere and needed me, or—”

“She has not been alone. She has been well cared for.” Lady Cosgrove extracted her arm from his grasp. “I am truly sorry. Perhaps I acted in error, but she
is
happy now. Mr. Vancer can provide for her in a way you would never be able to. If you love her, you will leave and let her be.”

Outside the alcove the musicians struck the final note of a reel. This was followed almost immediately by a shushing that seemed to flow over the crowd as the ballroom grew silent.

“It is time. Mr. Vancer is about to announce their betrothal. It is for you to decide now whom you will think of— yourself or Marsali and what would be best for her.” With that, Lady Cosgrove left him, merging quickly into the guests packed onto the floor, all facing a dais at the head of the hall.

Making certain his mask was still fastened tight, Christopher ducked beneath the sideswept curtain and stepped to the fringes of the crowd. A richly dressed man who could only be Vancer stepped up on the dais.

“Welcome, friends. It has been good to celebrate with you tonight. And now I wish to share with you even more cause for celebration. Many of you are aware of the tragedy that encompassed me a few months ago when my fiancée was killed. The same shipwreck that claimed her life also cost another young woman dearly.”

He extended his hand, and a woman took it and stepped up beside him. She turned to face the crowd, a radiant smile upon her face. Christopher wished he could shut his eyes in denial. But they were fixed upon Marsali, standing prettily beside Mr. Vancer in a stunning gown and with wispy curls hanging down on either side of her face.

I have touched those curls. I have kissed that woman. She is my wife.
He took a step forward, intending to make his way to the front and put a stop to this farce. She might have forgotten him so easily, but they were still married.

Are we not?
Captain Gower had said that common-law marriage was recognized in New York, so for Marsali to marry another should be against the law. Halfway to the dais he paused, uncertain.

With Marsali beside him, Mr. Vancer began speaking once more. “Miss Abbott has been recovering from her own injuries and tragedy these past months.”

What injuries? How was she hurt?
Christopher hoped she had not been burned. His own pain had been excruciating at times, but it hurt worse to think of her enduring the same.

“It has been a blessing for Miss Abbott and me to turn to one another in our grief.” He paused and smiled down at her with a look, which— even from this distance— could not be mistaken as anything other than tender affection.

Along with the knife lodged in his heart, Christopher felt as if someone had punched him and the pain had spread instantly to his limbs and elsewhere.

“Earlier this evening I asked Miss Abbott if she would be my wife, and she has kindly agreed.”

Cheers and applause erupted at this news, shaking Christopher from his stupor and prodding him to move once more, quickly now. He had to set this right. Marsali could not really mean to marry another man.
Her affections could not have changed so quickly.

“I am so very happy for her,” a woman beside him said as he passed. Her voice sounded strangely familiar, and from the corner of his eye he noted that her look was too.
Marsali.
His heart lurched. There had been some mistake. That was all. It had not really been Marsali who was to marry Mr. Vancer.

Christopher turned toward the voice and knew immediate disappointment. While the woman had similar features, she definitely was not Marsali.

Charlotte?

“She has had such a difficult life,” the woman was saying to another beside her. “I am happy to see that she will be both loved and provided for now. No one could be more deserving of such a happy resolution.”

During the time that Christopher had paused, Mr. Vancer had concluded his speech and the applause had died down. Marsali and Mr. Vancer had left the dais, and sets were forming around them. Theirs appeared full already, but that did not mean he could not get closer to her.