Masquerade ✔

Chapter 33

Clara nearly ran straight into Lucretia as she returned to Araminta's chambers. Her face was lined with worry.

"What's going on?" Clara peered around Lucretia's shoulder, but Araminta's door had already closed.

"I think you should go in and see for yourself," Lucretia said grimly. "Although, she doesn't really want to talk to anyone."

"But you still think I should go in?"

"I think you're the only one who could put her mind at ease."

Clara exhaled slowly as Lucretia walked away and then pushed open Araminta's door.

The deadly silence wasn't what Clara had expected. She half thought that Araminta would throw something at her head the moment she entered the room. But instead, it was quiet and still, the curtains drawn so the lighting was dim. It took a moment for Clara's eyes to adjust so she could actually see where Araminta was.

Araminta sat with her knees brought up to her chest, her face buried in her arms. She looked as Clara approached, and she was shocked to see Araminta's eyes were red.

"My lady, what's happening?" Clara asked. She had never seen Araminta like this before, and had no idea how to proceed.

"Go away, Clara."

For once, Clara disobeyed Araminta's order. "Not until you tell me what's going on," she repeated stubbornly.

Araminta glared at her, and Clara bit the inside of her lip as she forced herself to stand her ground.

Then Araminta let out a sob and buried her head back in her arms.

Oh. This was definitely unfamiliar territory.

"You know exactly what this is about," Araminta said, her voice muffled.

"Harrison. And the wedding," Clara said quietly. She looked down at the ground.

"I just, I can't marry him, Clara." Araminta's voice wavered, and she let out another sob. "I know he's not a bad person, I just can't imagine living my entire life ...there's just now way out of this for me." She hiccupped.

Clara took a few steps backward and sank down into a chair. "You know, I never thought I would get married." She frowned, unsure of where she was going with this.

But Araminta lifted her head and looked over expectantly.

"My father," Clara said, "he died about a week before I was born." She wasn't sure why she was telling Araminta this. Maybe she was speaking more for her own benefit. "My mother never talked about him much, but when she did, her entire face would light up." Clara smiled to herself, lost in a memory.

"How did they meet?" At the very least, Araminta seemed to have stopped crying, and now looked as if she was clinging to Clara's every word.

"It was just by chance." The story of how her parents met was always her mother's favorite. "My mother worked on airships, like me. And my father did repairs on mechanical machines. Like the messenger mice. He was called to do repairs on the ship my mother worked on."

"And that's where they first met?"

"She literally tripped over him." Clara let out a small laugh at Araminta's confusion. "He was working on something, kneeling on the ground, and she came around the corner busy as usual and carrying laundry, and literally tripped over him."