Dearest Diary,
Lord Hawthorne brought his younger sister Miss Posy Hawthorne over for tea today, presumably to expose her to older, successful women. I am still not convinced he really believes I fit this description, but until proven otherwise, I shall take it as a compliment. What he thought she would learn also remains to be seen. I found the young Miss Hawthorne to be exceptionally pleasant, polite, charming, and a wonderful conversationalist. It is a pity she doesn't take after her older brother.
The next morning, she awoke to find a stunning bouquet of pink roses waiting for her downstairs. Katniss' heart jumped in her chest, and she hurried for the note that accompanied them. She did not realize that she was smiling until she saw the signature and the expression was washed away.
"Hawthorne was very kind to send such lovely flowers," Mother said from the table.
Katniss nodded. "That he was." She folded up the note again and set it aside.
"I imagine he'll come calling this afternoon. You should wear the blue dress, and we'll do something special with your hair."
"I liked the curls she wore last night," Prim added around a piece of toast. For that, Mother frowned at her. "I suppose Hawthorne must have liked them as well."
"They were very pretty. What do you think, Katniss?"
She didn't look away from the roses. "I think the two of you know best." She brushed one of the petals with her finger, half-hoping it would fall from the flower and make the bouquet a little less perfect, but it held firm.
Hawthorne did indeed come calling that afternoon. The next day, he returned for tea with his younger sister in tow. Two days later, he escorted the entire Everdeen family to get lemon ices at the fashionable shop near the park.
After three engagements in nearly as many days, she could no longer avoid the reality that Lord Hawthorne was courting her. And though Katniss knew far too well what could happen when one allowed such an interest to fester, she allowed it. She tried to tell herself that it was simply easier to let him realize she was unsuitable on his own, for any intelligent man would soon realize that a woman so lacking when it came to basic niceties would make for a poor wife and a worse mother. That excuse rang hollow, but she had no desire to hurt him as she had Peeta. Though she had sent Peeta a letter the morning after the ball explaining her position, and another two days later in case the first one had never reached him, she had heard nothing in return. Katniss prayed that such silence was temporary and that they could return to being friends as soon as his hurt feelings had healed, but with every passing hour, such a happy outcome seemed less likely.
So instead of a riding lesson, for she would be willing to submit even to an hour spent sidesaddle on Daring if it meant she could see Peeta again, Katniss found herself wandering through the vast Hawthorne House gardens with Hawthorne himself. Mother, now hyper-vigilant to any possibility of scandal, had insisted on accompanying her. She sat in the gazebo and chatted with the dowager Lady Hawthorne as they roamed, always within sight. The gardens themselves were impressive, though not of a style that Katniss much cared for. The landscape garden had long seemed to her stuffy and forced, the exacting detail it required never quite matching the ancient elegance it meant to emulate.
Hawthorne – for though he had given her permission the day before to use his first name, Katniss couldn't convince herself to think of him as Gale – more than made up for her lack of enthusiasm. He stopped often to admire the blossoms, stroking the silky buds and asking for Katniss' opinion on them. She had to admit that despite her dislike of the garden, it did produce beautiful flowers. The roses he selected for her admiration were larger than any she had seen at home, easily as wide as the palm of her hand, and they came in an enormous variety of brilliant colors. There were unfamiliar flowers as well, blooms that travelers had carried back from all over the world. "The gardeners have to take special care with these," Hawthorne said, thumbing a purple flower that grew in globe-like starbursts of delicate blossoms. "Alliums are from Persia. The climate here isn't right for them, but with the right soil and a patient gardener, they can survive."
"But do they grow as large as they would have had they been left in their native country? I should think they would want more sunshine and less rain than England gives them."
Hawthorne shook his head. "I have never been to Persia, but I have read that they can grow to ten inches across."
"Then perhaps they should have been left there."
"But then how could we appreciate them? Beauty is wasted if left to rot alone." Finally, Hawthorne's hand moved away from the allium. He was watching her now, his gaze intense, and she found she had nothing to say. "I am grateful to whoever brought them here. I appreciate fine things."
Not wanting to linger here any longer, she pulled forward. He followed, catching up to her within seconds. "I want to see the ruins," she explained. "Though I'm not sure these qualify, considering they started out wrecked." That people wasted fortunes on roofless, half-crumbling structures boggled her mind, but the style remained. Like the alliums, men with too much money and too little sense cultivated the beauty of Greece and Rome into their landscape gardens, and no lack of deteriorated shrines and temples would stand in their way.
Katniss allowed herself a chuckle at the stairs that led up into the shrine. The builders had gone to great lengths to reflect age and decay in their work. Half of the columns around her ended in splinters, and when she moved closer, Katniss saw hairline cracks in the stone. They had even stained the marble to replicate the ripe golden tones of Poussin's Rome, but the stairs wore sharp edges and rigid lines with none of the softness granted by age. Inconvenience, after all, was far too much to pay for a true replica.
"You do not like it?" Hawthorne would not understand her amusement.
Katniss shook her head. "No, it's fascinating." To prove her interest, she moved over towards one of the pillars, tracing its sweeping lines up towards the sky, which was unmarred by louds on this rare sunny day.
Hawthorne allowed her a moment of quiet, then cleared his throat. Katniss looked back towards him. "I've been wondering why Mister Mellark had your stockings."
He had thought about that for three days? Surely the man needed a hobby. Sensing that remark would not be appreciated, Katniss instead smiled up at him. "I'm impressed you managed to wait so long to ask. I thought you'd have inquired that evening."
"It didn't seem prudent with so many people about. I wouldn't want someone drawing the wrong conclusions about your character." She counted it as a point in Hawthorne's favor that he assumed that her behavior had been completely innocent. That her behavior had indeed been mostly innocent, she counted in her own favor. "But you can understand my concern, of course."
"Of course." No, she couldn't really, and it didn't quite seem fair that he could ask after her behavior when she was expected to simply accept and dismiss any of his past affairs, but that did seem like the appropriate response.
When she volunteered nothing more, he slowed. "Well?"
"There's not much to tell." She wondered what proportion of lies started with that sentence and decided not to add to it. If Hawthorne wanted the whole story, he could squeeze it out of her question by question.
"I'm glad."
"Me too." She couldn't resist the addition.
He frowned. If he kept that up, Hawthorne would have terrible lines in his forehead before he hit forty. On second thought, his face might not be smooth at thirty-five, for Katniss could already pick out where the creases were beginning to develop. "For an unmarried woman whose reputation is at stake, you seem unconcerned by the possible consequences of your actions. Is your interest in Mister Mellark not as dead as I've been led to believe?"
"I don't think I've led you to believe anything, Gale." The name felt foreign on her tongue. "You can hardly blame me for any conclusions you've come to by yourself."
"And if I asked, what would you tell me?" His words were calm, but they held a hint of something ugly.
"I would have told you that Mister Mellark and I are friends, and that there is not, has never been, and will never be any other interest between us." She practically spat out the words. "And if you have any other questions, I suggest you ask me before making any conclusions, as what lingers in your imagination seems to have very little connection with reality."
Hawthorne's face went stony. "I think we should join our mothers now." He offered his arm, and when she made no move to take it, he grabbed her hand and looped her arm around his. Katniss was too stunned to pull away. "We can revisit this topic tomorrow at Mrs. Trinket's ball, after you've had time to calm down."
He waited until their second dance to bring up the topic. "You are ready to discuss this rationally?"
"I don't believe that there's anything to be discussed." She wanted to kick him in the shins for yesterday. Because Katniss wasn't willing to face the consequences associated with that decision, she had to settle for stepping on his toes as often as possible. Considering how poorly she usually danced, she wasn't certain he noticed any difference.
Hawthorne winced when she managed to sneak in a little kick. Serves him right. "Sorry."
"I've been meaning to apologize for yesterday. I should have been gentler with you." That wasn't a real apology. One could intend to do something a hundred times over and never actually do it. He had the rueful smile down pat. "I suppose I needed some time to calm down as well."
"Indeed." Katniss ought to be kinder. Everyone made mistakes, and considering that she possessed a rather quick temper of her own, it seemed hypocritical of her to hold a moment's outburst against him. Still, that was reason talking. When did she ever listen to reason?
The familiar waltz entered its final measures. "I would appreciate it if you would leave me by the refreshments," she said, her tone cold.
"We should discuss the matter, Katniss. I want this out of the way before the night is over."
Katniss' eyes narrowed. "And I think I might still need some more time to calm down."
"Very well, then." He steered them towards the edge of the ballroom. "I will call on you tomorrow." He brought her hand up to his mouth and pressed his lips to it. "Goodnight, Katniss."
"Goodnight." She made a show of surveying the refreshments until she sensed he was long gone. Once she felt certain Hawthorne wouldn't be back anytime soon, she allowed her shoulders to relax. Her dance card held several more names, but if they somehow happened not to find her, she could pass the rest of the evening unbothered. A very brisk stroll around the ballroom might do her some good, and if the noise of the crowd somehow drowned out the sounds of her partners trying to get her attention, well, it would be quite a shame, wouldn't it?
She had almost completed her first lap of the ballroom when she spotted him. Katniss' grip on her glass tightened, and she forced herself to turn the other direction. But Peeta stayed with her as surely as if he walked beside her. She had done an excellent job so far of not thinking about him so far this evening – spite and toe-stomping had stolen any time she had for pining – but now that she'd seen him, there was no forgetting how she'd longed for him this last week. She cursed under her breath and turned back to around. Katniss Everdeen did not run away. She posited herself at the edge of the ballroom, crossing her arms over her chest as the object of her annoyance again came into view.
Peeta always presented himself well, but tonight, he stunned. His deep blue coat followed the lines of his body, revealing the taper from his shoulders to his waist, and though its gold buttons were perfectly polished, their gleam could not compete with that of his hair. She could not see his legs, but her memory happily supplied an image of silky stockings stretched taut over muscular calves. If this was all for the benefit of his current partner, it was surely wasted. Lady Johanna Mason had a reputation that could make even the most sophisticated courtesan's cheeks blush scarlet. For years, rumors had swirled of affairs with the daughter of a neighboring earl, a scullery maid in her uncle's household, and three dozen other women scattered across Europe. If she were anything but the daughter of a duke, society would have cast her aside fifty times over. The Axewood dukedom protected her, turning what would have been a source of shame into a point of interest, if one that even the gossipmongers only dared to whisper about behind the safety of their fans.
Perhaps the woman's exploits had not been as confined to the female sex as Katniss believed. Lady Mason moved in towards Peeta, close enough that her breast grazed against Peeta's arm with every step. Katniss' glass clinked harshly against the chair beside her, and she felt a few drops of lemonade seep through the thin fabric of her glove. She glared at the yellow stains left behind. Katniss' eyes narrowed, her gaze aimed at Peeta. If he felt her eyes on him, he made no sign of it. He beamed down at his partner, his face taking on the light that came over him whenever he made a joke.
A well of emotions bubbled up within her, and Katniss found herself too weak, too worn down by the days of loneliness to push them away. She did not want him, not in the way he had once wanted her, yet she hated seeing his attentions laid on another. Jealousy was an ugly beast, and in this case an unnecessary one as well, but now that it had its claws on her, it refused to let go. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on her lemonade, the couple was always there at the far edges of her vision. Miss Mason's laughter could not have been any louder than any of the other noises in the room, but it followed her, buzzing at her ear like a bee, begging to be swatted away.
On second thought, perhaps Katniss Everdeen did run away. All the best strategists would agree that occasionally one needed to retreat.
She swore she'd already passed some of these doors. Yes, all the doors in this wing of the Trinket household were identical, but she saw something familiar in the layout of this corridor, in the arrangement of doorways in the seemingly endless hall. Where was everyone? A home this enormous required scores of servants to maintain it. They couldn't all be minding the guests. For the tenth time, Katniss stilled, straining her ears for any sign of life.
There. Something besides silence, thank God. Katniss hurried down the corridor. If she could find her way back to the ladies' retiring room, she knew now that a right turn would take her back to the ball. She slowed as she neared the source of the noise. The voices that leaked from under the door in front of her were low and male. Not the ladies' retiring room, then. She raised her hand to knock, and it must have been Providence itself that made her pause.
"My contact has been called before the tribunal. I can't know if he's going to keep his head, much less if he'll be able to pay."
"I was promised payment." She pressed her ear to the wood of the door, trying to catch every word. The man's voice lowered even further. "My information is valuable. Someone in the government will want it."
"You know the situation in Paris," the first man protested. "Someone with money and power today could be kneeling before the guillotine tomorrow. You knew the risks getting into this."
"I don't think you understand." Katniss' eye widened at the way the man held onto his s's, drawing them out until they were nearly a snake's hiss. She staggered away from the door, hardly daring to breathe as she hurried back down the hall. The distance did not allow her to escape Crane's next words. "You will find a buyer for me, or you will regret it."