Star's Crossing

16: The Heart, Once Compromised

Mare leaned against the parlor door.

Her father slept soundly in his rocker beside the window, rendered ancient in the soft summer light. Mare's mother had already departed to help the other women set up for the picnic in William's Park, and Alison's carriage would soon arrive to gather Mare.

"I remember this picnic," said Matilde. She sat upon a settee opposite their father, bent over the chess table with a cup of tea in one hand. Her chestnut hair hung in a single elegant spiral behind one ear, and her lashes were curled, casting shadows over her cheeks. "Antony and I had been entered in courtship a year by then."

Mare said nothing. She had no qualms with Matilde's marriage or husband. Antony was clever, polite, and very handsome. When Matilde was near, he drew to her like a comet pulled into orbit, and when the pair entered a room, she always entered first.

Still, Mare could not help but feel her sister's soul had been offered early at the altar of ceremony. Most of the girls in her class had still practiced etiquette and cursive, while Matilde considered wedding gowns and the names of her future children.

Then again, Matilde was born an old soul. And as Mare's mother would say, much too clever for anyone's good.

"You too have limited time," mused Matilde now, answered only by the slide and click of moving chess pieces. Knight. Pawn. King. The queens regarded one another across the board, perfectly still. Unreadable. "Have you considered the offer of that young man, Mr. Doores?"

Mare had spent the last few days considering absolutely nothing else. Now she knew he'd penned her letters, she was almost relieved to allow her mind back into that great and passionate universe they'd woven together. Years of secrets disclosed and hopes revealed; all in ink, all on paper. Tangible as flames against her skin.

"I have." Mare spoke softly, though she knew her father would not wake.

Matilde moved another piece, expression perfectly composed as a pawn broke the enemy's line, out of reach of ramification, a breath's width from the queen. Helpless knights and bishops bracketed each side, destined paths directing them further from the one they needed protect most.

"Well," said Matilde, "once the heart has been compromised, body and soul have been just the same. One is the rest." Matilde sighed, glassy-eyed, and took her own queen. With deft movements she began returning players to ranks, robbing Mare of the chance to study the precision of her sister's tactics. As though disappointed in her loss, though it was also victory, Matilde stood and smoothed her skirts. "Oh. Mare. You do look lovely."

"Do you think so? Mother chose it. I find it a bit silly." Mare looked down at her gown, coral lace and taffeta, one of three new this year alone-how her mother justified the expenditure, Mare didn't want to know; no doubt by writing it off as an investment-and wished for the fifth time she might shuffle to change before Alison arrived. "Pink is not my color."

Matilde smiled, and it was with rare sincerity and an old tenderness reserved for Mare and soft-read Thoreau. "That's hardly the spirit. You've bent an ear for my counsel since I arrived-what would I have you say?"

Mare sighed, eyes skyward. It was true. Mare had succumbed to Matilde's will, become pupil to her too-quick, too-clever sister. "That the most daring roses bloom in all shades?"

"That makes little or no sense, pony. But I heartily admire the effort." Matilde chucked Mare's chin, then adjusted a curl here, a curl there, until Mare looked evidently presentable. "I'd have you say that such a color is terribly frivolous; and now and then, shouldn't a woman be just the same?"