Sunlight and Shadows

by Christine Cross

  “But why ever not? He’s a decent man, is promised quite a beautiful home –”

  “Yes, I am far too aware of the home,” she said, frustration coloring her words.

  Her father sighed. “I must ask you to speak with him. Give him a chance. I think he could be a very good match for you. He would take care of you.”

  She huffed. “He’s so boring!”

  His brow furrowed. “That’s no reason to not consider a man’s proposal.”

  “A proposal? Father, I just met the man!”

  Her father made a motion to quiet her, and he took a step towards her. “My dear, this is a far better match than most young ladies could dream of. Even your sister, I doubt she will ever be pursued by a man of such standing –”

  “Father, how dare you say such a thing about Lydia?”

  “I don’t mean it to be mean, my dear. But that is how rare of an opportunity this really is!” He pointed a finger at her. “And your sister would have enough sense to take an offer like this when it presents itself!”

  She seriously doubted that.

  “This is really what you want?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “It is,” he answered simply.

  “Then I’m sorry father, but I must disappoint you,” and she turned around and fled to the door that lead out into the front yard.

  She kept running up the yard, following the winding drive that lead to the main road. She just didn’t want to be near the house anymore.

  She came to a halt when she heard the sound of a horse trotting up the drive. Quickly she wiped her eyes and looked about to find something to do to appear she had a reason to be this far from the house. She found some wild flowers growing and she hastily picked as many as she could.

  The horse came around the bend and would have surely seen her. She gathered the flowers in her arms and turned to wave at whoever it was that had arrived.

  And the flowers fell from her arms to the ground beneath.

  “Mr. Nightingale!” She ran over to him as he was jumping off the horse’s back.

  He ran over to her and stopped a few feet away.

  “You came,” Sophia said, her eyes welling with tears again.

  He smiled wide and bright, and Sophia’s heart softened considerably.

  “I did, just as I promised I would.”

  And before she could control herself, she burst into tears once more.

  *****

  “My dear, whatever is the matter?”

  Sophia cried even harder. She felt so foolish for crying in front of Mr. Nightingale, but too much had happened to her today already. She had been so excited and so happy all morning, only to have her hopes dashed by her father’s words about Mr. Buxton. She had felt her heart break, and she worried that what she had hoped for might never come true. And then, just when it seemed all hope was lost and she could not escape her father’s wishes, Mr. Nightingale appeared once more, as if he were an answer to her prayers.

  “Come now, let us sit down,” he said gently, and ever so softly, he placed his hand on her shoulder to guide her. Clasping the reins of his horse they walked back toward the house.

  She allowed him to guide her, and gave herself a hidden moment behind her hands to gather her thoughts and muster up the courage for whatever she was going to say to him.

  “There now, have a seat, and I will be right there to sit with you.”

  She heard the crunch of gravel under his riding boots as he walked away from her. She opened her eyes, some tears still clinging to her eyelashes. The sun had come out from behind the clouds, and there was a pleasant breeze. Mr. Nightingale had turned to tie up his mare to a tree on the opposite side of the path. She noticed he allowed her to sit down on a bench beside the pond filled with waterlilies in front of the house. She realized, in a frustrated way, that if anyone were to step outside, they would immediately see them sitting together.

  With how she felt about Mr. Buxton at the moment, she wasn’t entirely sure that she cared what anyone else thought.

  “There,” Mr. Nightingale said, as he wiped some dirt from his hands. He crossed the drive back to where she sat. She was grateful that she was sitting, as he was even more handsome than the man she had dreamt of. His honey colored coat was a fine compliment to his complexion, and he looked both fashionable and practical.

  He knelt down in front of her, and smiled up at her. “I am terribly sorry to have caused you such anguish, dear Miss Worthington. Please, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  “Oh, no, it isn’t anything you have done, Mr. Nightingale,” she sniffed, and felt awfully small. “You have been nothing short of perfect.”

  He gestured to the seat beside her, and when she nodded her head granting him permission, he sat down beside her. “Well, I am not entirely certain that I could be considered perfect.”

  “Nonsense,” she retorted. “Unlike one Mr. Buxton.”

  His face suddenly became pale, and his eyes grew wide. “A Mr. Buxton, you say?”

  She nodded, only partially aware of his reaction, still too consumed in her own thoughts. “Indeed. My father insists that I marry the man.”

  “Marry? Already? Didn’t you only just meet him three days ago?”

  That statement startled her. She turned to look up at him. “How did you know that I hadn’t met him before this weekend?”

  His eyes darted down to his hands in his lap, to his horse, and up to the sky. He swallowed and took a deep breath, smiled for a moment, and then frowned.

  She felt a small twinge of fear in the pit of her stomach. Had she told him that at the ball? She didn’t think she had; she knew she had told him she had danced with the man, but how did he know that she hadn’t known Mr. Buxton for quite some time?

  “Mr. Nightingale, I do not think that I shared that information with you.”

  He rubbed the back of his head, his eyes no longer on hers. He took a deep breath.

  “Mr. Nightingale!”

  He stood to his feet and walked a few feet away. He stood and looked out over the valley where the village was, and the trees and the warm afternoon sky.

  She watched him, and wondered what was going through his mind. She couldn’t help but to feel exasperated with him as well. How was it that this day that was supposed to be so perfect, was working out to be such a difficult one?

  He turned around suddenly and looked at her. A small, sad smile passed over his face. “You look…beautiful today. I hope you know that.” He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. “I think green suits you very well.”

  Confusion clouded her mind. What in the world was he saying?

  He took a step to the right, and then to the left. He seemed to be stalling.

  “I have to confess something,” his voice was low and hoarse.

  “What is it?” she asked, certain she was unable to bear the tension a moment more.

  “I have to confess that this weekend was not the first time that I have seen you. But it was the first time that I had the courage to speak with you.”

  She felt surprised, but more than anything, relief, warm and brilliant, passed through her limbs and her mind.

  “Before you say anything, let me tell you what I mean.”

  “Please do,” she replied.

  He nodded, and sat himself down beside her once more. “The first time that we should have met was last summer, at the ball held by your father, here, at your manor.”

  She blinked at him. “But I do not remember meeting you.”

  He sighed. “And you would not, because I had been a coward. I attended the party with a friend of mine and his family, as I had been staying with them for part of the summer, and they had been invited the ball.”

  She nodded. “Are you referring to the ball to celebrate my sister’s coming out?”

  He nodded as well. “Indeed. There had been quite a few young gentlemen there to see her, including my friend and his family, but I had come along
to ensure I did not spend an evening alone in their home with nothing but a book to read.”

  He smiled at her, and there was a great gentleness in his eyes. “I saw you as you stood beside the staircase, your mother and sister on either side. You had a crystal goblet in hand, and you wore an ivory dress with blue ribbons. Your hair was shorter then, and you had left some of it down at the ball.”

  How had he remembered in such detail?

  “You were absolutely stunning. I remember that it was as if time itself had stopped as I watched you. No one else mattered, nothing else meant anything. But I had to meet you. I had to speak with you. I had to know your name.”

  He shifted his weight on the bench, and crossed his legs. “Your father introduced you and your sister that night to the guests, and…” his voice trailed off, and he laughed softly. “I was afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?” she asked.

  “Of you.”

  She peered at him closely. “But why? I don’t understand.”

  “You are more beautiful than any woman I have ever seen. And after I had been given what I needed as motivation to speak to you, I lost all of my courage.”

  She smiled at him. “Mr. Nightingale, I dearly wished you would have spoken to me that night. Things might have turned out so much differently.”

  He nodded. “I know. I’m so very sorry I waited so long.” He cleared his throat. “But that wasn’t the only time I had seen you. You’ll be disappointed to know that I had seen you three more times over the course of the year.”

  “Three, Mr. Nightingale?”

  “You must think me such a fool,” he replied.

  She shook her head. “Not at all. In fact, I find it rather endearing.” She laughed lightly. “I never would have thought a man would be so nervous to speak with me.”

  He smiled a genuine, warm smile in reply. “Well, in any case, I still took my time talking with you.”

  “Out of curiosity, where were these other three places?”

  He smiled. “Once at the ball of All Hallows’ Eve at the Mead’s estate; in town around Christmas time when you were shopping with your family; and just last month at church. My family and I had not met Pastor Reginald, and my father takes pride in knowing all of the clergymen in any of the towns nearby.”

  “So you must live very close,” she said.

  “I do indeed. Just over the hill, in fact.” He smiled. “I had no idea that your family lived on this side of the valley.” He looked up at the view in front of them and smiled. “It’s quite magnificent, isn’t it?”

  “I spend every morning at my father’s desk that looks out onto this view,” she replied, and smiled. “I love it.”

  She turned and looked at him. “So what was so different about this past weekend?”

  He hung his head sheepishly. “Well, I am not proud of my actions, but I felt as if I had little choice.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I had seen you and your family arrive, and I had not known that you were to attend. To be honest, every time I had seen you, I had not anticipated it. I think that is part of the reason why I was always so nervous. If I had known, perhaps I could have prepared myself better.” He smiled. “But, this is about this weekend. As I said, I had seen you and your family come in. You all spoke near the door, and then your mother and father walked over to stand beside the Buxton family. I stood near enough to be able to hear what they were saying.”

  He looked down at his hands. “I only wished to listen to hear what I could about you. I knew very little, and anything I heard I longed to know. I hope you don’t think less of me for intruding on your father’s private conversations.”

  “Your intentions did not appear to be harmful,” she replied. “But what did you hear?”

  He sighed once more. “I heard your father introduce himself to Mr. Buxton. It appeared that they had corresponded by letters in the previous weeks. He pointed in the direction of where you and your sister stood, telling him that the young lady he had written about was the blonde in the blue dress. And then he began asking questions about your character, habits, likes and dislikes.” He huffed. “It sounded very serious, and all I could think was about how I had not introduced myself to you yet. And if the conversations I was hearing were any indication, I might not have another chance to do so.”

  He shook his head, and bent over, resting his elbows on his knees. “At first, I felt disappointment. I felt as if I had missed my chance, and I would be forever regretful for it. And then I was angry with myself, because what kind of a man was I to be so afraid of speaking to you in the first place? I’m a decent man, and have a suitable means of providing for a wife and family; why couldn’t it be me that your father had spoken to? How was Mr. Buxton any better than I was?”

  He looked back over at her. “And that’s when I decided; I was going to speak to you, finally, before Mr. Buxton had a chance to. If I found you were as interested in me as I was in you, then perhaps we had a chance. But if I waited any longer, even a moment, then Mr. Buxton would have introduced himself and it very well could have been too late for me.”

  “That was a very brave decision to make,” Sophia replied, and smiled at him. “Did you know how happy I was when you did come over and introduce yourself?”

  He smiled wide in return to her words. “No, but I know that I was the happiest that I had ever been when I finally was able to see you look at me and speak to me. When I walked up to you, I had no idea what I was to say. I knew that I needed to make as good of an impression on you as I possibly could, as this might be my only chance. I was so afraid, and felt as if so much rode on this. I didn’t know you at all, didn’t know at all if we could make each other happy. But I knew that I only had one chance to find out.”

  “And that is when you came up to me, yes?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “You seemed so confident to me, Mr. Nightingale. I didn’t think at all that you were afraid.”

  “I felt as if I might fall over or lose consciousness if I wasn’t careful.”

  They laughed together, both surprised at the other’s reactions.

  “And what do you think?” she asked finally. “Of your choice?”

  He looked at her and smiled, a bright light in his eyes. “I realized it was exactly what I should have done. I was not disappointed. Talking with you was everything I could have ever wanted, and even more. And I realized that I would have never forgiven myself if I hadn’t had a chance to talk with you. Because you are so kind, and so interesting, and so very beautiful.”

  “Oh, Mr. Nightingale. I had hoped you might say such things.” She took a deep breath. “I had no idea that you had suffered for so long in silence. I am so sorry for any pain that my ignorance caused you.”

  He smiled a small, gentle smile. “No, you have nothing to apologize for. It was I who took far too long to make my feelings known to you. I hope you do not think less of me for waiting so long.”

  She shook her head. “How can I be, when you found your courage and have been nothing short of a gentleman to me?”

  They smiled at each other for a few moments, and just enjoyed being together.

  But then she sighed, and her brow furrowed. “But…Mr. Buxton. My father still wishes for me to marry him. He came over today to discuss the details of the arrangement.”

  “Wait,” Mr. Nightingale said, looking aghast. “He’s here? Today?”

  She nodded, and collapsed her face into her hands. “Yes. And I thought it was you that was coming to visit today. I had assumed at the ball this weekend that the gentleman my father had intended for me to meet was you.”

  Mr. Nightingale shook his head. “No, sadly. I did not mean to confuse you so much.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she replied. “There was a miscommunication, and my father and I…” she looked up into the sky. “Well, we don’t see eye to eye on the matter.”

  They sat in a contrasting silence to their laughter of a
few moments before. “So, what should we do now?” Mr. Nightingale asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she answered.

  “Perhaps I should go speak with your father, let him know that there is another suitor for his daughter!”

  “Wait,” she replied, and grabbed his arm as he got to his feet. “I truly don’t know what we should do. He was insistent that I wed Mr. Buxton, regardless of how I feel. He doesn’t know who you are.” She sighed as she let go of his arm. “Frankly, he might even believe that I invented you out of fear.”

  “But –”

  “That’s enough.”

  They both stood and looked towards the front door of the house. Standing there was Mr. Worthington and Mr. Buxton.

  “How –” Sophia started. “How much of what we said have you heard?”

  She wished she was still sitting down on the bench behind her.

  Her father’s face was blank. “Enough, dear daughter.”

  Mr. Buxton stood with his hands behind his back, his strong face cautious and pale.

  Mr. Worthington started to walk across the distance to where his daughter and Mr. Nightingale stood beside each other.

  “So, you are Mr. Nightingale?”

  Mr. Nightingale bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

  “Why have I never heard of you or your family?”

  “My father is Jasper Nightingale. But perhaps you know my mother, Lady Curtis?”

  Sophia’s father’s eyes brightened. “Ah, yes. I do know her. I was not aware that she had married.”

  Mr. Nightingale nodded. “She moved to France where she had met my father. We only recently returned to my mother’s family’s home,” and he gestured over the valley. “The Birchwood estate.”

  “I know that place well. It sat empty for five or six years, hadn’t it?”

  “Indeed, my lord.”

  Mr. Worthington nodded his head. “You know, I do not take kindly to young men listening to my conversations with others.”

  Mr. Nightingale and Sophia tensed.

  “You heard everything, didn’t you?” Sophia asked.

  “I watched everything after you fled from the room. And with the windows open to the lovely breeze, it was not hard to hear the conversation.”