His Forbidden Debutante. Anabelle Bryant

he couldn’t.

      The realisation he possessed this weakness weighed heavily on his soul. How could he enter into marriage, a sacred union built on honesty and trust, when his truest emotions, love, devotion, passion, lay tied with a ribbon hidden in his wardrobe? How could he betray his intended and compromise his own integrity? With the deepest reverence, he respected his betrothed. She presented a kind smile and clever intelligence. He’d encountered not one poor word in reference to her reputation or family. Still, despite earnest effort, he’d collected no tender emotion.

      He cleared his throat as if the action would somehow rid him of the reality of his choices. He had a duty, a new station to uphold. He would marry. He would propagate and carry on with the most congenial of relationships. Ardent affection could develop were he to allow it the opportunity. This was the truth and the lie he told himself daily while enduring the ritual of overdressing required of his station.

      He slammed the drawer closed and locked it before he could change his mind. He would not read a letter this morning. He had a long, happy future to look towards and the letters did not signify.

       Chapter Two

       Dearest, I cannot allow you to speak poorly of your dance ability. You are, no doubt, a swan in the ballroom, a rose among weeds, delicate, graceful and captivating. I long to waltz with you, hold you in my arms and circle the floor, proud and honoured to be offered the boon. One day we will waltz. You have my word.

      Livie allowed a gentle smile, the remembrance of Randolph’s words bittersweet, the letter in her lap dated over a year ago. At the time, she had believed his vow to be no more than a fairy-tale wish made by a kind gentleman who knew her solely through correspondence, never having seen or conversed with her in person. Yet as their exchanges grew in frequency, through weeks and months, emotion became more important than probability. Their conversations evolved into lively banter, two friends who hinted at more, a man and woman who’d met under the most unlikely of circumstances and forged a relationship by letter writing.

      How she looked forward to his heartfelt missives, their discussions exploring every subject imaginable, no topic off limits or too mundane. Perhaps it was the act of committing the words to paper and sending them into the post that freed her from inhibition. She shared fears and aspirations, goals and accomplishments. The anticipation of his reply kept her counting the days and mentally listing all the new questions and comments she longed to include in her next message.

      Together they spoke with refreshing candour and frank honesty, which led to a natural progression of sentimental affection and, though they never confessed it, feelings of love. An undercurrent of adoration and devotion laced their final letters, hinting at what might be were one to take that final step, to wish hard enough and plan a meeting. She clenched her eyes closed against the onslaught of emotion she worked so hard to ignore.

       Because Fate had intervened.

      She’d never foreseen the accident or impairment that interrupted her life, crushing her dreams along with her legs.

      She inhaled, holding the breath until her lungs hurt to prove she was alive and in control, then folded the letter with care and returned it to the wrinkled pile kept in a small rosewood box on her dresser. How odd so much time had passed and the memories of Randolph’s words remained vivid, as if they’d conversed only yesterday. Unwilling to consider her loss any longer, she turned away, that segment of her life beyond her now. Too much time had passed. She needed to look towards a bright new future.

      She would master the steps of every waltz, cotillion and quadrille, her ability more polished with each lesson. She would embrace her come-out, her sister’s zealous plans and effort not going to waste, and she would pursue a congenial place in society.

      All in all, if one couldn’t have eternal love, one could have shoes… many, many pairs of lovely, fanciful shoes. Shoes represented freedom and choice, the ability to move forward and stand tall. The distraction prompted a smile and she spied the brown wrapped box she’d snuck upstairs and hid under the coverlet at the foot of her bed. Strategically placed pillows helped to obscure them somewhat, though the situation was only temporary.

      She closed the door and turned the lock before peeling away the brown wrapping, her anxious fingers fumbling with the lid as she finally opened the carton.

      What was this? Where were the orchid silk slippers with matching ribbons and delicate embroidered embellishment?

      With haste she upended the box and dumped the contents atop the mattress as if another pair of shoes lay hidden beneath the plain black walking boots she’d discovered within.

      But no, nothing except a small burlap pouch, as unattractive as the leather boots, slid into view when she examined the contents. Disappointment rippled through her, yet she couldn’t complain when she should never have made the purchase in the first place.

      For no other reason than curiosity, she lifted the pouch and pulled loose the drawstring at the top, spilling the contents into her cupped palm. A pair of bow-shaped shoe clips captured the afternoon sunlight slanting through the window and glistened with blinding clarity. The clips were encrusted with a multitude of large, clear stones that could only be some type of glass crystal, for were they real diamonds, their size and cut would have been enough to secure wealth beyond imagination.

      Not sure what to do, she raised the adornment towards the window where it caught a kaleidoscope of colour in every gleam and glimmer, the faceted reflections waltzing along the far wall. Perhaps the clips were worth salvaging from the entire mistaken-shoe incident. She’d never seen such sparkling beauty and owned several pair of slippers that would showcase the embellishment at parties or formal social functions. They twinkled in her palm with a bold wink, as if to assure her the secret confidence remained safe. She didn’t have time to consider it further as her sister’s voice echoed in the hall.

      ‘Livie, are you home?’

      ‘Yes.’ Livie yanked the coverlet over the boots, box and wrapping, shoved the shoe clips into her skirt pocket and unlocked the door a breath before Wilhelmina breezed into the room.

      ‘Perfect. We need to decide on decorations for your come-out. Have you chosen any colours in particular? I thought a pale shade of blue would complement nicely, or pink and lavender.’

      ‘Pink for certain, but we need to elevate the décor. I would hate for anyone to equate my gathering with a young girl’s birthday celebration, jejune and ordinary.’

      ‘How true.’ Wilhelmina’s expression changed to one of discomfort, her eyes flicking around the bedchamber as if searching for a place to rest. ‘While I have your attention, there’s something else we need to discuss.’

      ‘Really?’ Livie looked towards the coverlet, relieved no evidence showed.

      ‘Dash mentioned you’ve overspent your allowance again. The bill from the shoemaker this month exceeded last month’s, and while I truly understand your desire for fancy shoes to accompany your new-found freedom, I had little defence for your behaviour. My husband took me to task and what could I say? You couldn’t possibly need another pair…’ Wilhelmina’s faltering comments trailed off in a whisper.

      ‘Oh, dear.’ Livie reached for her sister’s hand, pulling her closer in hope of erasing the concerned frown on her face. Wilhelmina worried, Dash grumbled, and here Livie hid yet another pair of shoes, albeit the wrong ones, under the quilt at the foot of the bed. She needed to reorder her priorities and practise a bit more common sense. Hadn’t Esme warned her? ‘I’m sorry. I’ll do much better. I know my debut is a tremendous undertaking and with Kirby Park’s complete renovation and your recent wedding celebration, it’s selfish of me to continually overspend, most especially when additional footwear is unnecessary.’ The contrite apology matched her sincere expression.

      ‘Oh, Dash wasn’t terribly bothered and all is right, I assure you, but he did bring the matter to my attention.’ Wilhelmina smiled.