This can't be true.
Mary repeated that to herself nearly every minute. Other mantras included: You are a fool. You're acting like a child. This doesn't happen in real life. This isn't a romance novel.
James S. Dowers was not Dickon Sowerby. There was no way. None at all.
Impossible.
But they way he looked at me...
Impossible.
Mary sat at her vanity, staring into the eyes if her reflection. Her long hair was tied into a braid that fell over her shoulder and past her breast. The moon shone off her porcelain skin as she stared into her blue eyes.
"You are a fool, Mary Lennox." She spoke the words aloud, as though that made then truer. "A bloody, romantic fool."
You will marry Andrew Navarlen. You will do what is expected. What is grown up. You will not chase some day dream because you fancy yourself an adventure.
J. S. Dowers is not Dickon Sowerby.
He is not.
He is not at all.
Ooo
Two days later, Mary heard a knock at the door during breakfast.
"I'll get it," Elizabeth announced. She always got the door. She felt it improper if the younger, unmarried women opened the door.
"We are not a place of ill repute," she would say. Mary hadn't the faintest how answering the door would make her a harlot, but there was no point in disputing Elizabeth.
Half a minute later, she returned with a letter in her hand and a gaze set upon Mary.
"It's for you," the envelope she extended had Mary's name on it written in the most elegant red script. Elizabeth took a letter opener from a side table and laid it on the dining table.
Mary opened the letter.
Miss Lennox,
It would be my privilege and honor if you would join me and my guests for a party celebrating the release of my new book on Monday 3. You may bring one additional guest if you choose. The party will begin at five. Dinner will be served at seven. Formal attire is to be worn.
Signed,
James S. Dowers
Elizabeth scoffed, "His letter writing is not poetic in the least. I can't see the fascination with that man."
Mary clutched the letter to her chest, "Oh, come now Elizabeth. You must get exhausted from being so inexplicably contrary all the time."
Elizabeth sputtered a few shocked words but quickly sulked away, which is what Mary had wanted.
She clutched the letter even tighter, J. S. Dowers has sent me an invitation!
I'm going to a party at J. S. Dower's house!
Monday...
"That's today!" She gasped, pulling the letter out. Mary looked at Zelda, "It's tonight! The letter must've gone out late."
Zelda wasn't listening, "You got an invitation? He didn't even talk to you! I can't believe I wasn't invited."
Mary noted the invitation, "I'm allowed a guest. Would you like to come?"
Zelda's melancholy turned to bliss almost instantly, "Oh yes! Thank you, Mary! You're wonderful!" Zelda stood and twirled around a bit, giggling.
Mary couldn't help but laugh at the girl's sudden change in mood.
"You're welcome. The party's tonight."
Zelda covered her heart, "Tonight?! I have to get a new gown! I must have new ribbons!" She bolted out the doorway. "LIZZIE! TAKE ME TO TOWN IM GOING TO A PARTY!"
Mary rolled her eyes and rubbed her fingers over the letter.
I'm going to a party.
ooo
"Do I look all right?" Zelda pushed around the beads on her gown. "Do I look modern and sophisticated?"
Mary turned from the carriage window to look at her young friend. Zelda's gown was long and slim and a shimmering shade of green. The gems and beads sewn upon it must have weighed it down a bit and made sitting uncomfortable, but Zelda did not complain.
Mary smiled at her, "You look beautiful."
Zelda blushed, "Not nearly as beautiful as you."
Mary looked at her own dress. It was navy with a tight bodice and sheer sleeve with stripes of darker cloth. The skirt flowed down to the floor with small stitched patterns.
Zelda noted Mary's hair, "Your's is always so dark and curly. Mine is the color of straw and straight as a pin."
"You could cut it," Mary suggested. "Girls are cutting their hair all the time in America."
"Yes, but if I cut my hair, Elizabeth would cut my heart out," Zelda sighed. The carriage shook and then halted. "We're here."
The door opened and the cool night air spilled in. Mary wrapped her shawl around herself as they stepped out onto the gravel.
His house was larger than Mary had supposed. He must make good money from writing, or his money was old. Whatever the source, his house was a decent sized home.
Inside, there were more people than Mary had envisioned. Old money, new money, artists, aristocrats, lawyers, and liars. Though the variety was large, the number of bodies was not staggering. One could still move comfortably about the crowd.
Mary lost Zelda within five minutes of the party.
That girl... She scolded her.
Mostly, Mary didn't want to be alone. There was no one at the party whom she knew very well. She didn't want to whole night to be mindless small talk.
"Mary, what on earth are you doing here?"
She turned to the familiar voice.
"Colin!" She beamed, "It is so fine to see you! When did you get to town?"
Colin, her cousin, was wearing a suit and sipping champagne. His blonde hair had been slicked to one side of his thin face. His height was equal with Mary's now, though for most of her childhood she had been much taller than him.
"Just last night," he told her. He finished his drink, "After Evelyn called off the engagement."
Mary froze. Honestly, she had not cared much for Evelyn. The girl was very cold and her words were always biting and cynical. When around Colin, she made him become that way.
Evelyn knew that Colin had once fancied Mary when they were children. They had been hardly more than ten when this happened, but Evelyn still saw Mary as a threat to her relationship. She was always very overbearing around Colin.
Mary did not like this girl at all, but Colin had loved her very much.
Mary clasped his hand, "I am so very sorry, Colin."
He shrugged but would not meet her eyes, "It's how it is sometimes." Colin sat his drink down on a waiter's tray and took another, "Let's not be melancholy. We're at a party!"
Mary smiled and took his arm. "How do you know J. S. anyway?"
"Never met the man," Colin admitted. "I was to be Evie's date but when she split from me she decided not to come to London. I figured I'd put the ticket to use anyhow."
Mary nodded, "Well, I'm happy you've come. It seems the girl I brought had abandoned me."
Colin and Mary walked into the next room. It had a few more people inside of it. It appeared to be a hall of some sort but the tables had wen cleared for people to mingle and dance.
"How do you know this author fellow?" Asked Colin of his cousin.
Mary answered, "I hardly know him at all. He was at the library benefit a few nights ago and we exchanged nothing more than a few words."
The music played in the background, a simple waltz that Mary had heard during her time in London. The social dances here were very high and sophisticated but Mary at times would miss the fun, sprightly dances of the country halls.
"Excuse me, may I intrude?" said a gentile voice to Mary's left. She turned to see the elusive host himself standing there.
Mary felt those strange feelings in her stomach when she looked at him. She hadn't had this feeling all too much in her life, but every time she did it felt familiar. As if it was something ingrained in her since birth. Something very natural.
His smile was so light and kind and it pushed back the small amount of hair on his face. He looked so trusting and loving with a bit of hidden mischief in his eyes.
She smiled, "Of course, sir." Mary gestured to Colin, "Mr. Dowers, This is Colin Craven, my cousin."
"A pleasure," Mr. Dowers was all sincerity.
Colin squinted, as if hard pressed to remember some trivial fact, "The pleasure is mine. Do I know you from somewhere?"
Mr. Dower's bottom lip protruded a bit as he made a look of upmost sincerity, "I don't believe so."
Colin sighed, "Ah well. Thought I'd ask." He walked away and Mary felt a wave of nerves overtake her at once.
Calm down, he is just a man. You've talked to many men before. You are excellent at small talk.
Yes, but this man is an artist. A painter with words. Your small talk about weather and the city would be trivial and unintelligent to one such as him.
"Are you excited for your book to be released, Mr. Dowers?" Mary asked, hoping that question would be stimulating but not unintelligent or prying.
Mr. Dowers walked with her to where others were dancing. He took her waist in one hand and her right hand in the other.
"Very much so," he answered as they began to step in time to the music. His eyes were so nice. A mixture of light and dark, as if they couldn't decide with color to be. "Are you?" He asked tea singling.
Mary laughed, "Oh yes. I always love a good read."
He smiled halfheartedly, "They're not all that good, truly. Not as good as some of these new American authors I've been reading. They're doing so truly remarkable work over there."
"I'd love to travel to America," Mary said wistfully. "It just seems so..."
"Free?" He finished.
She simpered, "Yes." Mary caught herself, "Sorry, I shouldn't have-"
"No, this is the best conversation I've had in weeks," Mr. Dowers grinned. "Your fiancé is lucky to have you."
"Lord Navarlen and I are not yet engaged," Mary said. She wasn't sure why. They were as good as. "He didn't come tonight either. I invited Zelda-er Miss Roth-instead."
Dowers smirked, "She's a charming young woman."
"She's a handful, that's for sure," Mart replied with a laugh. "She was so devastated when she was not invited that I figured I'd ask her to come along with me. I lost her the moment we stepped in the door."
"I'm sure she's fine," Mr. Dowers answered.
The music changed to a sweet and light song Mary was unfamiliar with. It filled her with more of the butterflies that fluttered against the walls of her stomach.
"This party is very lovely, Mr. Dowers," she said.
His smile was as warm as wool, "Please, call me James."
"James."
So it is not a pen name. He is not who you think. This is James Dowers, who is still a perfectly amiable man without also being Dickon Sowerby. You're being a romantic fool, Mary. Something you swore never to be.
Mary also noted that she found ease in being familiar with him, something she had never felt in her entire acquaintance with Lord Navarlen.
James lowered his voice, "Though that is a falsehood as well. A pen name, really. My true name wasn't romantic enough to put on a book cover."
Mary's heart nearly leapt out of her corset.
"I'm sure it's a lovely name," Mary could scarcely speak. Please please please
James laughed, "It's a horrid name, truly. It's-"
There was a loud resounding crash from the next room followed by a high pitched squeal.
"I do believe I've found Zelda," Mary muttered.
The sped through the clamor of people all mumbling about the noise thought few seemed concerned enough to find the source.
The source was Zelda, standing in the study with a broken vase on the ground.
She looked up with watery blue eyes, "I'm s-so very s-s-sorry, Mr. Dowers."
Mary grimaced, walking to her young friend. Her left hand had a nasty gash that was oozing crimson blood.
Mary grabbed the hand and Zelda grimaced.
"Zelda, what did you do?" Mary pleaded. From behind, James stepped out with a handkerchief and stuck in on the wound.
"To stop the bleeding," he said as his attention turned to the shattered blue vase.
Zelda sniffed, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Dowers. I'll replace it, I will. I'm just so clumsy. It was an accident."
Clumsy, more like drunk, Mary thought. The accusing eyes she have Zelda must've said the same for she looked at the ground in shame.
She must've been in here with someone, Mary thought. He probably left when the vase broke. Didn't want to pay the damage.
James knelt next to the rubble, picking up a shard and frowning at it. He put it down and stood up brushing off the dust.
"Nonsense," he said. "I never liked that gaudy thing anyway. It was a gift from my sister, which I think was out of spite." He gave Zelda a friendly smile, "Dry your tears. You owe me nothing."
Mary was aghast, "Mr. Dowers, you needn't."
"Nonsense," he repeated. "I'll take the fact that her lovely friend danced with me all night as ample payment."
Mary fought hard not to blush.
He locked eyes with her, "And please, call me James."
OOO
"He's mad for you," Zelda said for the tenth time.
Mary scoffed, "He's not."
"Yes, he is," Zelda hiccupped as the carriage bounched around. Her eyes were half shut as she began to nod off. "So mad for you."
Mary gazed at his house, shrinking in the distance.
"It's a horrid name, truly. It's-"
What? Who are you? What is your name?
Please be Dickon Sowerby, Mary prayed.
You are a fool, she told herself.
A bloody fool.