Letting out a long breath, Mr. Hawthorne took his hand from the wall and gathered his hat from the bench. “Well, we’d better get back to our walk. Vance and Violet should be back soon.”
“Yes, I suppose they will,” I replied.
A little later, after we’d picked Sylvie up from her friend’s house, I was let off at Faircourt before the carriage was taken farther down the street to Everthorne. Mr. Hawthorne took it upon himself to climb out before me and help me descend the small metal steps.
He then escorted me to my parents’ front door. “I hope you realize what a great pleasure it has been, my having the chance to see you again, Mrs. Everstone,” he said, as my hand still rested on his arm.
“I…I…” What could I say? It hadn’t all been a pleasure for me. Most of it had been an extremely difficult conversation, one that I knew he could have easily taken to a much different level…if only I’d been able to do as he asked. If I’d been able to let my guard down.
But I couldn’t let myself like him.
No matter how much I did.
“I’m glad we had our conversation today,” was all I ended up allowing.
He seemed to understand this was enough, for he made a bow and rang the bell. Once my parents’ butler opened the massive carved-wood front door, Mr. Hawthorne took the steps down to the sidewalk. But instead of climbing back into the carriage, he tilted his hat to Vance and kept walking in the direction of Everwood.
Forcing myself to close the door as he walked away, I then ended up watching him from the front windows to see if he were indeed heading to Everwood. And he had been, for some reason.
Turning from the window and swishing the curtains back in place, I knew I shouldn’t have cared. But then again, with Mr. Cal Hawthorne, doing what I should, and not doing what I shouldn’t, was becoming something I couldn’t quite master.
And I felt like kicking myself.
For one thing had become vividly clear during this outing to the park: No matter how I tried, there was something about him—about his every word to me—that made it impossible for me to keep the treacherous feelings he’d first induced at the bookshop tucked away. And despite what I knew of his involvement in the case concerning his rotten cousin, I cared entirely too much about Mr. Cal Hawthorne and what he thought of me.
9
Faircourt
“When a man has seen the woman whom he would have chosen if he had intended to marry speedily, his remaining a bachelor will usually depend on her resolution rather than on his.”
—George Eliot, Middlemarch
During the next week, I ended up hearing more than I’d ever wanted to about Cal Hawthorne from almost everyone I spent time with. He hadn’t been around in all that time though—which made the situation even more frustrating. Vance and Violet often spoke about our time at the park, which would then remind me of everything he’d said to me that day. Father would mention him haphazardly, always talking of the dinner he hoped to invite Mr. Hawthorne and his family to, though I still didn’t know of plans to actually do so. And Miss Claudine Abernathy’s sole purpose in life seemed to consist of getting me interested in marrying him.
She’d been trying to persuade me I needed to spend more time with him, catch his attention, and let him know how very attractive I found him, now that she’d found out I’d indeed met him and spent some time with him at Riverway Park.
All of which was unneeded.
And unappreciated.
And completely working.
It was all fairly impossible to ignore, for Mr. Cal Hawthorne had crashed into my life that day in the bookshop, and nothing had been the same since. And witnessing Father’s amiable interactions with him the afternoon at Rochester Farms, combined with everything Mr. Hawthorne had explained about why he did what he did, had done some detrimental damage to the barriers I’d been trying to construct.
He was too attractive, drew me in too easily. If he was able to keep seeing me, keep trying to get to me, as he had that afternoon at the park, I didn’t know what I would do. Why did he have to be so good? So perfectly heroic?
I’d meant to ask Violet about the situation when Mr. Hawthorne had saved her last summer. I also wanted to meet Miss Philomena Lassiter and Miss Sadie Martindale, the two girls who’d been saved alongside her. I knew that putting faces with those names would help make things more real for me. Whenever I recalled what kind of future they would have had, if not for Mr. Hawthorne, my admiration for him only grew.
I’d known a number of fine gentleman over the years, of course, but no one as kind and considerate and determined as Mr. Hawthorne. And then added to that, how breathtakingly handsome he was. It was such a precarious mix, and one I hadn’t been able to withstand.
And yes, it all was so dangerous.
The word meant so many different things to me now, though.
I was afraid for so much more now, and it wasn’t just concerning my own heart. I was afraid for these girls who could so easily, so innocently, be tricked and then trapped into living a nightmare. Somehow their plight had lodged itself into my heart, so much so that when I’d thought of all Mr. Hawthorne did for them, it didn’t so much scare me, but rather, made me proud.
So proud of him.
And consequently, everything he’d told me about the whole situation spurred my thoughts on to what more could be done. But every single idea I came up with didn’t seem nearly enough. What could be done to equip these young women once they were released from the orphanages at the age of sixteen? How could we steer them into the right direction for employment, and direct them to places and people who weren’t trying to trick them into a life of slavery?
I wasn’t used to thinking in such directions, but it was quickly becoming all I ever thought about.
For if I thought of Mr. Hawthorne, I thought of these things.
Then also, if I thought of these things, I thought of Mr. Hawthorne.
And now I looked forward to seeing him again, to gain his opinion and insight on what else could possibly be done for these girls who were preyed upon by men like his cousin. How could we better guide them? Help them?
After spending the afternoon at Everwood with my mother, Miss Abernathy and Sylvie, and yet again, being unable to find the courage to bring up any of these concerns I had about the young women graduating from the orphan school, I entered the front door of Faircourt, and my parents’ butler, Fellers, greeted me.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Everstone.”
“Good afternoon, Fellers. Thank you.”
He closed the door behind me.
“Your father has been with some visitors in the back parlor. He told me to inform him if you should arrive home while they were still here. He would have you join them.”
Which was strange since Father didn’t usually like visitors when he had a Saturday afternoon all to himself. Even if he did have someone over, he usually entertained his friends in his study and certainly didn’t include me.
Fellers disappeared down the hall, making me feel a little as if I were a stranger in my own home, waiting to be seen by my father and his guests.
A few minutes later, Fellers came back for me. “You are welcome to join them now.”
My heels sounded on the marble floor all the way down the hall to the back parlor, echoing loudly, announcing my arrival. I wondered why Fellers hadn’t felt the need to inform me who exactly I was supposed to be joining in my own home. It was all very confounding, and I didn’t like how secretive it all seemed.
Fellers used both hands to slide the large, seldom-used pocket door open, and it rumbled loudly as it barreled into the cavity in the wall. There was no hiding the fact that I was coming now.
When Fellers moved out of the way, I found Vance Everstone standing in the room next to my father, alongside none other than Mr. Cal Hawthorne.
I slowly stepped from the hall into the parlor, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off Mr. Hawthorne. Although I strived not to seem too interested that
he was there, I could tell my undeniable attraction to him radiated from me. There seemed to be nothing I could do to prevent it. Everything felt so strong, so much stronger than anything I’d ever felt before.
Mr. Hawthorne was dressed in a three-piece suit of the same level of stylishness as Vance, and the effect a simple change of clothes made was absolutely mesmerizing. He’d been clothed in fine enough suits every other time I’d seen him.
But this.
Had Mr. Hawthorne come to see me?
The thought thrilled me, and I purposefully refocused my gaze away from him.
“Ah, Nicholette.” Father stepped across the room to me and took one of my hands in his. Could he tell I felt like running in the opposite direction? “You’re just in time to join us for some tea.”
Vance shook his head, holding up a hand in polite refusal. “I actually had my fill earlier this afternoon, thank you.” He turned to shake my father’s hand. “I should probably be leaving.”
“Oh, already?” I couldn’t help but look at Mr. Hawthorne’s face, fully expecting to see his intoxicating smile. But I caught him watching me with a serious look, the weight of his thoughts evident.
“I need to get home. Violet is expecting me,” Vance added, answering my question.
“I’m grateful you came, Vance, and you too, Cal.” Father turned to face us as he spoke.
“It was nothing,” Vance responded. “I’m glad I could come along.”
“And Cal, since my daughter has just arrived home, you’ll be staying a bit longer to have tea with us, won’t you?”
Mr. Hawthorne caught my eye as he replied, “I’d be glad to.”
“Then it’s settled.” It was uncharacteristic of Father to care much about being hospitable, and instead of tugging the bell pull, as Mother would have, he uttered, “Excuse me, then. I’ll have tea sent in.” And he left the room entirely.
“Well, I should be off.” Vance exited, and Mr. Hawthorne and I followed him down the long hall to the front of the house. As Vance collected his things, I nervously fiddled with the strings of my reticule.
“It was good to see you again, Cal.” Before Mr. Hawthorne could respond, Vance went on. “And I look forward to seeing how everything we spoke of today pans out.”
“Me too.” He uttered the words so that only I could tell what he’d said, and he’d said them so pointedly, that for a moment, I was only able to stare at him, my heart beating erratically.
Before I could respond, Vance left without further ado.
Mr. Hawthorne closed the door behind him, and we were left standing there alone, waiting for my father to rejoin us.
He would, wouldn’t he?
Mr. Hawthorne smiled then, that same half-hidden—and yes, definitely intoxicating—smile from when I’d first seen him almost two months before.
When he didn’t say anything, I said, “I wanted to ask you something, Mr. Hawthorne…will you be attending the dinner party at Everthorne in two weeks?”
Although there were a great many things I wanted to bring up to him regarding what we’d discussed at the park, I knew this was a safe-enough question that it wouldn’t seem too intrusive for an afternoon tea, especially if my father were to join us again soon.
“I’ve been invited,” he answered, politely.
“But you’re not planning to attend?” I gracefully swiveled away from Mr. Hawthorne to walk down the hall to the back parlor where Father would be, hopefully, awaiting tea.
“As of right now, I have other plans that evening,” he answered from behind me.
I stopped and turned to him. “What kind of plans?”
“Why, Mrs. Everstone, are you alluding that you’re looking forward to seeing me there—that you would have me change my plans in an effort to spend more time with you?”
“Of course not.” I turned back around with a huff and continued on down the hall. “I haven’t the slightest interest in spending more time with you than need be,” I lied. He certainly didn’t need to know how entirely smitten I’d become with him since our time at the park. Goodness, I couldn’t even fathom how forthright he would become if he knew.
“Oh, of course.” He laughed, having entirely too much fun toying with me. “Vance has been doing his best to get me to change my plans, but I’m afraid it’s something beyond my control. Mabel will be there, if that is any consolation.”
“It will be nice to see her again.” I entered the back parlor, and Father wasn’t there. “I know she and Sylvie have become great friends of late.”
Glancing at Mr. Hawthorne as he walked beside me into the parlor, I noticed that he now looked much more comfortable with the situation. Then, suddenly, he caught my gaze, and his grayish-blue eyes took on a new gleam, and my cheeks heated.
“That they have. They have much in common in being young and frivolous without a care in the world. I had a difficult time picturing you and Miss Boutilier being very close. You don’t seem anything alike.”
Sitting at the end of sofa, I said, “She’s definitely cut from a different cloth than I—”
“As, I think, anyone would be able to tell.” He sat as well, in a chair close to my end of the sofa.
It was amazing how Sylvie always seemed to have so much fun with life. And Mabel matched her so well. I’d never had a friend who fit me—not even William—the way I felt Cal Hawthorne seemed to.
When I failed to respond, he added, “But that isn’t a bad thing, you know.” He spoke so matter-of-factly, like he’d studied the subject at great length. Which was blush-inducing, considering the subject was me. I still refrained from speaking. I didn’t know what to say to him beyond having the surging desire to ask him what kinds of things he’d discovered in his studies.
“Her effervescence is quite infectious, but oftentimes I find I prefer subtle and sensible as opposed to flighty and whimsical.”
“Yes, that would be me, wouldn’t—?” I covered my mouth with my fingers. “Sorry, not that you meant—”
“There’s absolutely no need to apologize, Mrs. Everstone,” he stated frankly. “I did mean that I prefer you. Highly prefer you, actually, over any other young woman I’ve ever met.”
Trying in vain to regain my composure, because honestly, what was I supposed to say to that?—I said, “What was it exactly that brought you here today?”
He looked into my eyes, deeply, longingly. “Your father invited me.”
“My father invited you here, along with Vance? I’ve noticed he has become a good friend of yours.”
“We have become friends, yes. And I suppose your father wanted to have reinforcements ready.”
“For what reason?” I asked, fairly confused.
“In case I needed to be persuaded to take the job your father was so good to offer me.”
“Oh. Did you need to be persuaded?”
“Not at all. I happily accepted.”
“When will you start your job at Father’s bank?”
“It might not be for some weeks, perhaps not even until the end of August.”
Standing, I walked the perimeter of the sofa to where some plant stands were situated before the twenty-foot floor-to-ceiling windows looking out to Marlborough Street. “Because you’d rather work for Mr. Rochester?”
“No, I would rather work for your father.”
“Then why don’t you just take the job? Start tomorrow?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“As glad as I am that you’ve finally decided to ask your questions of me, I must point out, you certainly do want to know everything about someone who doesn’t interest you in the slightest.” Mr. Hawthorne followed my example and unfolded himself from his seat. He turned to face me, not moving past the sofa. He simply watched me closely as I neared the large windows.
“You are highly…” I took a deep breath and thought twice about uttering my next word. I didn’t need him to know that everything I’d ever gathered about him—as well as all I had yet to figure out—had become such a preoccu
pation of mine.
I did want to hide that from him…right?
Mr. Hawthorne took a few steps closer, around the end of the sofa, joining me, cornering me. “You can go ahead and keep the end of that sentence to yourself, Mrs. Everstone. I’m finding my imagination is doing an excellent job filling in the words you won’t supply.”
“Enigmatic,” I admitted, in case his imagination came up with some other, more effective words, like fascinating, or mesmerizing, or impossibly handsome. “That’s what I was going to say.”
He took a step forward, moving his hand across the top of the wooden edge of the sofa, a few inches from mine.
Entranced by his closeness, I braced my hand a few inches from where his rested at the back of the sofa. Not that it would have any use in keeping him from coming closer—and really, did I want to keep him away?
Or was my hand resting there…waiting for his?
The thought of Mr. Hawthorne taking my hand in his softened something inside me, and instead of backing farther away, pulling my hand out of reach, I found myself taking a tiny step forward, gliding my hand forward…because, like always, his presence did something startling to my heart, every single time.
Mr. Hawthorne noticed where I’d rested my hand, and then brought those gray-blue eyes to meet mine. But he remained silent for a moment, saying nothing and everything all at once with that one knowing look. Then he whispered, “Enigmatic is an acceptable adjective.”
At the clattery, squeaky-wheeled sound of the tea cart rolling down the hall, Mr. Hawthorne took a step back and combed his hand through his thick brown hair, causing it to stand in a ridiculously attractive wave. He walked out from behind the sofa, leaving me there, trying to understand what had just happened.
Twisting my fingers together nervously in front of me, I tried to shake the intense gratification I’d felt from almost having his skin against mine.
Father returned to the room then, a maid rolling in the teacart after him. “I apologize for taking so long, I got distracted by something that needed my attention. I hope you two took advantage of the time to get better acquainted.”
Enchanting Nicholette Page 9