It was time to break free of his lies. All of them. For good. “Let’s do this thing.”
“All right. How about first we just go in the water and practice getting on and off the board?” William pushed himself up, then offered her a hand.
She grasped it and stood, scooping up her board. They headed into the water. Even with a wetsuit on, the initial splash of cold made her gasp, but soon she became acclimated to the temperature. For half an hour, William helped her practice getting into position.
Then he grabbed his board, and they paddled and rode the waves in on their stomachs, just so she could get a feel for the rhythm of the water beneath her.
“Be sure to keep your feet together and your core tight.” William demonstrated the basics on his own board.
“Like this?” Sophia tried to mimic his paddling position.
“You look great.”
She tried not to read too much into his words—or the way he was looking at her. He’d already confessed he was falling for her, so why was William’s attention so hard for her to handle? Refocusing on making big, long strokes, Sophia cupped her hands and kept her chest lifted as she cut her arms through the water.
Next, William showed her how to duck dive under a wave. After another half hour of practicing her navigation of the water, they came back to the beach to rest.
He pulled a water from the cooler he’d brought from home and handed it to her. “How are you feeling?”
She unscrewed the cap and took a sip. “Good, I think.”
“I know it can feel awkward when you’re first learning, but I’ve got to say, you look like a natural.”
Perhaps she’d inherited her father’s skill after all. Take that, David. “Thank you. For the compliment and for taking the time to do this. I know there are many other ways you could be spending your day.”
“None so pleasant as this.” William stared off into the waves. “Not only do I get the pleasure of your company, but there’s something about the water that has always beckoned to me. When I’m out there, it’s pure poetry—the same thrill I get deep in my soul when I read Dickens or Keats. Like a universal truth calling to me.”
“What’s it saying?” She didn’t know anyone else who connected with literature as much as William. And to know he felt the same as she did about nature, the water . . .
A tingle raced up her spine.
“Something different every time, but with the same undertone. Freedom. Grace. Love.” He brought his gaze back to her. “Are you ready to get back out there and try standing?”
“Yes.” And she was.
Still on the beach, he showed her the proper standing technique and she practiced getting up into that position.
The time had come to try it in the water. Her heart beat wildly against her chest as she paddled out to the waves. He’d taught her as a beginner to look for foamy waves breaking parallel to the shore. She duck dove under several waves as she made her way out into the open sea, William somewhere nearby.
Right now, it was just her and the ocean.
A wave started rolling toward her. She turned to catch it, and as it broke, she pulled herself to a standing position on her board. For a few sweet moments, she rode the wave. Though it was small, the power of conquering it filtered through her whole being, filling her with inexplicable joy.
As the wave petered out, she abandoned her board. Coming up for air, her feet found the soft bottom of the ocean below, and she heard William’s whoop and saw him swimming toward her, boardless.
“That was amazing! Your first try. I’m so impressed.”
“I have a great teacher.”
The water—which only reached their chests—was calmer here, the bobbing up and down less jostling than farther in. “I’m ready to do that again.” Sophia started to pull herself up onto the board from one side.
William moved directly across from her, the board between them. “Not so fast.” Water dripped from his hair, which curled when wet. She could smell the coconut sunscreen on his skin.
“What? Do you need to correct my technique or something?”
But his eyes told her exactly what he was about to do—and though part of her brain protested that this was far too fast, that she was leaving in a few months so what was the point, the other part told it to shut up.
William placed his elbows on the board and pushed himself up, closing the gap between them. For a moment he waited, studying her, silently asking permission. When she didn’t protest, he kissed her. It was soft and sweet, and she wanted more—more of this beautiful man and his beautiful soul. She slid from the board, unhooked its Velcro leash from her ankle, and pushed the board toward shore.
This time she closed the gap between them, throwing her arms around William’s neck and kissing him more deeply. He wrapped his hands around her waist and tugged her close.
As the sun caressed their surroundings, they stood together against the waves that broke gently toward the shore.
He finally pulled away, placed his forehead against hers. “See? Poetry.”
26
EMILY
AUGUST 1858
I only had to make it through one more ball before the season was over—before we would return to the trees and the splendor of the coast.
A maid helped me slip into my gown, a relic of my mother’s that was so painfully out of fashion I ought to have been embarrassed. But there was something special about this dress. I had saved it for the last ball. It was not likely I would ever have occasion to wear it again in the future. Though Louisa’s family seemed pleased with my last-minute service as her companion, the plan was for me to return to my previous position as governess, and a new companion would be secured for Louisa as soon as we left London.
Once my hair was properly arranged, I left my room and walked down the hallway to Louisa’s. I knocked and peeked my head in. She was surrounded by three maids, who fussed over her and made certain her beautiful brown head did not have a single hair out of place. Her blue gown had been commissioned and created by one of the finest dressmakers in London.
“Emily, isn’t this dress divine? I have been aching to wear it, but Mother made me promise to wait until the end of the season.” She powdered her nose and dotted perfume on her wrists, doing her best to pretend away her sorrows. Her effusiveness had been much dimmed since her family’s rejection of Charles Miller two months before.
“Rosamond is going to look like a goddess. She showed me her dress last week.” Louisa fluffed her dress. “And it’s a good thing because Edward plans to propose tonight, or so Mother tells me.”
I had to whirl away from her so she could not see my face. What was wrong with me? Why this gut-wrenching dread coiled in my stomach like a snake about to strike? I had known a proposal was coming. Had avoided being alone with Edward since that day in the garden, though he had attempted to pull me away from the crowd a few times.
Once he was engaged, he would likely stay in London or travel to Hertfordshire where Rosamond’s family had a massive estate. Whatever the case, it would be some time before he returned home. That would give my heart time to heal. It was for the best.
I repeated those words to myself as I followed Louisa down the staircase where Edward’s family waited. My eye caught Edward’s as I descended. The look in his was indefinable, but even from a distance I could see him swallow hard. Perhaps he was nervous about proposing to Rosamond. He needn’t be. It was clear she was enamored with him and would say yes in an instant. And though she had not shown me any particular kindnesses, neither could I find any discernable flaw in her character that should prevent them from being a good match.
When we reached the bottom step, Edward’s father kissed Louisa on the cheek. “You look lovely, my dear.” He took her and his wife, one on each arm, and escorted them from the room toward the front door.
Edward and I were alone.
I stepped forward, head down, walking as quickly as I could—but he grasped my elbow.
“Emily Fairfax, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you were avoiding me. Though I cannot think what I have done to deserve it.” His voice echoed in the cavernous room where the ceiling arched overhead.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I pulled my elbow from his grasp and kept walking toward the front door.
He stepped in front of me, and I could see the frustration on his face. “We have hardly spoken since that day in the garden.”
“Edward, please. Your family is waiting for us. We cannot be rude.”
He gave me a look—one that conceded only temporary defeat but promised more argument to come—and extended his arm. I took it, and we walked together through the door. Before we reached the carriage, he stopped and leaned down. “You look more beautiful than I can ever remember seeing you.”
My pulse skipped. I glanced up at him, my mouth falling open slightly.
His eyes were serious but his mouth twitched. “It’s difficult to reconcile the sight of you now with the tomboy I knew growing up.”
“Do not fret. I’m still the same girl underneath all these frills.”
“That is what I love best about you.”
As he helped me into the carriage and climbed in after me, his words struck something deep in my soul. It was probably the only time I would hear him utter the words “love” and “you” in the same sentence when referring to me. How pathetic of me to mull his phrasing over and over in my mind, and yet that is exactly what I did all the way to the ball.
A few hours later, after dinner had been served and couples spun together on the dance floor, I sat in a high-backed chair keeping a close eye on Louisa, who danced with Andrew Forsight, a dull young man who was harmless enough. Blessedly, Charles Miller was nowhere to be seen.
The air around me was punctuated with laughter as guests socialized and young people flirted. A mixture of perfumes and colognes mingled together in the grand hall, creating a cacophony of fragrance that had given me a slight headache.
Louisa seemed content, so I stood and made my way to the balcony for a bit of fresh air.
Out here I was alone. The sound of the strings and other instruments was dimmed, though still vibrant. The air felt full of rain and portent. I stood at the edge of the balcony, wrapping my arms around my waist and swaying to the lovely tune drifting from behind me.
Though the party was inside, I wasn’t eager to step through the glass once more into a world where I would never be more than a spectator. But then and there, I vowed to be part of their world in another way—these people who did not think me their equal would one day find my words in their homes, in the form of their favorite books.
“Come, the party is not so bad, is it?” Edward joined me next to the railing.
Had he followed me out? “It is not bad at all.”
“You’re lying. You hate it in there. You hate anything having to do with fine society, do you not?” A hint of jest mixed with something else—a real question, perhaps?
“That is not true. I simply don’t belong in fine society.”
“You belong with me, so you belong here.”
I shut my eyes, not daring to look at him. Once again, the power of his careless words to both enthrall and cut me reigned supreme. “We are friends, it is true. But no one in that room thinks of me as an equal.”
“You are not their equal, Emily. You are better than all of them combined.”
I finally looked at him. He wore that serious expression again, this time without a hint of teasing.
I could not help myself. “Not better than your Rosamond, surely.”
He frowned.
“I hear congratulations are in order.”
Edward shifted from one foot to the other. “Nearly. I plan to propose tonight, if I can locate Rosamond. She seems to have disappeared.”
“I will not keep you from your search, then.”
The music changed from a quadrille to a waltz. Edward tilted his head, then extended his hand. “First, might I have this dance?”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my throat. “Don’t you remember what happened the last time we tried to dance? I stepped all over your feet. It was rather humiliating.” Granted, I had only been twelve when Edward tried to pass along what he’d learned from his dance instructor.
“I recall that it was charming.”
“You have a very poor memory then.”
“Nonsense.” He stepped closer to me and placed his hand in mine.
My heart beat out a warning to me. Stop, it said. I did not listen. Instead, I allowed Edward to take me around the waist and lead the way through the waltz.
A few times I did step on his toes—but it was different from when we were children. I looked up at him, expecting us to laugh together, but he was gazing down at me as if he had never seen me before now. His lips turned downward at the corners, his eyes locked on mine, and his hand seemed to pull me closer. We were tucked together as tight as was proper, moving around the balcony as one, completely in step with each other, completely in tune to us and us alone.
So when the music halted, we kept dancing. I was afraid to stop, afraid this world I had fallen into would shatter.
But it was Edward who finally quit the dance. Both of us were breathless as if we had run, and we maintained eye contact. What was he thinking? Was he feeling what I was feeling—the light and joy and passion welling up inside of me, bursting and begging for freedom to finally whirl outside of myself?
He spoke first. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” For finally realizing that it was me, not Rosamond, whom he longed to marry?
“You’re all wet.”
It was then that I realized a gentle rain was falling from the sky. But it should not have been gentle. If it was going to match what shook inside of me, the lightning and thunder should have been terrorizing us, the rain pelting our skin, the wind pulling our hair in every direction.
And I could no longer be silent. “Do you love her, Edward?” The whispered words did not reveal everything, but it hinted at it all the same.
Rain dripped from the tip of his nose. “It doesn’t matter.” He turned to go back inside.
I snatched at his jacket. “You did not answer me.”
“Don’t, Em.” He would not look me in the eye when he said it. “Please.”
My pride would not let me stay there any longer. I wouldn’t beg him for more than he was willing to give. The time for us to share our hearts was past—perhaps had been for a while, and I had just been too full of wishful thinking to believe it. “Be happy, Edward. No one deserves it more than you.”
I smoothed the wet hair from my face and headed back toward the ballroom. It would look scandalous to enter with Edward alone, drenched as we were, so I found a side entrance that took me down a separate hallway. It was not such a long walk back to our house, and I prayed Edward’s parents would not think I had neglected my duties where Louisa was concerned—though that was exactly what I had done.
But my heart was bursting. I needed to return to my desk so I could process my emotions with my pen.
Not thinking clearly, I became turned around in my flight to find the exit. Strange that I had not come upon a single servant or guest who could direct me to the right location. I stopped to assess my whereabouts. Everything looked the same to my muddled brain.
Finally, I heard low voices as I rounded the corner. I saw movement in a dark alcove and couldn’t help the small gasp that left my lips.
A man had Rosamond pressed up against a wall, her skirts lifted in a most unladylike manner, her arms entwined around his neck. She moaned as he kissed her, then kissed him back with a fervor not meant for anyone else’s eyes—especially mine.
Edward’s conduct was what surprised me most. And how had he found her so quickly after leaving me? Whatever the case, he evidently had proposed and she must have said yes.
I backed away, my heart sinking at the sight before me. But in my attempt to e
scape, my foot hit something that clattered to the ground, alerting Rosamond and Edward to my observation.
Rosamond jerked away and saw me. Edward did the same—but indeed, it was not him! Instead, she’d been in the passionate embrace of one of the footmen who’d served us dinner earlier that evening.
How dare she do this to Edward! I knew that even if he did not love her completely, he would always be faithful to her. That was his way. Obviously the same could not be said about Rosamond.
She strode toward me, an accusing glare accompanying her. “You will speak of this to no one.”
I should have closed my mouth and continued walking. But my bruised and battered heart would not allow me to do so. “Edward has been looking for you all evening, and yet this is where you’ve been? It’s deplorable.”
“Do not pretend you are perfect, Emily Fairfax. I see the way you look at him.” Her lips turned upward into a wicked smile. “And no matter what you say, he is mine. It must break your heart to know you have no claim on him.”
My lip quivered, but I would not cry—not in front of her. “He is my friend, which is more than I can say for you. You are merely an adulteress.”
She laughed, and the footman silently approached her side. “I’m not married yet. I plan to have my fun while I can.”
“Perhaps Edward should hear what kind of woman he is planning to propose to.” I knew I shouldn’t have said it, but I could not allow Edward to be shamed in such a way.
The accusing glare returned. “If you say a word to him about this . . .”
“He would believe me, you know.”
I turned on my heel and raced away before my mouth could get me into even more trouble than it already had.
My eyes were bleary the next morning. I’d stayed up all night after the ball, my headache and heartache raging as my fingers flew across the page. Should I tell Edward about Rosamond’s indiscretion? Was it something he would appreciate knowing, or was it simply a normal part of society and I was naive about such matters? I dreaded the idea of being the one to bring him pain.
The Secrets of Paper and Ink Page 17