For the first time, however, Anna stood without pretense. Her lips pressed into a tight line, and I studied her expression. She was much more agreeable without the act. Meaningful silence was infinitely preferable to that of pretended anything.
“I do not wish to hurt you,” I said, looking to the ground, “you are as dear as a sister, but I do not—”
“There.” She assumed her usual aloof manner like a well-worn glove. “There, you have said just what I needed. Affection for a sister is not so far from that of a wife.”
Far bolder than any woman would be—the downside of us having grown up so near one another.
I bit the edge of my lip. Elliot had cautioned me against harsh words just that morning, and already Anna was forcing me back to the use of directness. “I do not mean for you to be encouraged. I have stated my feelings perfectly. I will not be swayed.”
She gasped, but her eyes twinkled. “I do not believe you.”
“I wish you would.”
She laughed. “You hardly know me anymore. You cannot be certain of anything.”
I might have said the same of her but arguing would do little besides provoke her further. Instead, I released a heavy breath and crossed my arms. Clearly, we were gaining no common ground. “I think I will return indoors. I cannot take the heat much longer.”
Anna’s right brow lifted into a skeptical arch, and she turned toward the sun.
The rays bore down against my long sleeves, though the effect was more soothing than uncomfortable. I did not reach for excuses—they’d never suited me. Honesty had always been my first line of defense. However, Anna had made it clear she would not accept my honesty. I was loathe to begin playing games, but if I were to extricate myself from her in this moment, a lie was all I had to rely upon. I’d promised her brother to withhold another barrage of truth.
A thousand lines thrummed through my head as to what I should say in parting. Anything about seeing her later that evening would be misconstrued. Anything I could say about being grateful to be home, may have the same effect.
I settled on a curt, “Thank you.” At which point, I walked inside like a coward.
Elliot and I would need to have another conversation about his sister. I wasn’t in a rush to find a wife, but I’d rather my ability to dance or meet new persons not be hindered by Anna’s attachment.
Haven’s Landing that I so loved, that so often had brought me peace, threatened to become a very miserable place to spend my summer.
Chapter 13
Isabelle
Anna’s bedchamber was even larger than mine—a fact I had not imagined possible. Light poured in through the three large windows facing west. The drapes of each window stretched from the high ceiling down to the floor, and the maids must have dreaded the task of pulling them back each day. Three in Anna’s alone—I could scarce imagine how large a task the entire house presented.
“What happened when you visited the parish?” I asked, trying to make sense of her fragmented sentences and incoherent mumbles.
An hour had passed since her flustered display on the lawn, and her complexion had at last regained a semblance of its color. She sprawled across her mattress, staring blankly at the plastered ceiling. “Nothing of consequence. We delivered baskets, far less interesting than your tour, I am sure. Why didn’t you wait for Elliot? He had planned to give you the tour.”
I folded my arms and sat on the edge of her bed. “Elliot sent Mr. Windham in his stead.”
Anna lifted to her elbows, and dark curls escaped her pins in a nest of tangles. Her lashes were darker than usual, drooping into soggy clumps at the edges.
“Anna,” I said, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “Are you crying?”
She caved against me, resting her wet cheek atop my shoulder. “Mr. Collidge and Mr. Rowley are perfectly respectable choices. I care nothing for that other man.”
I remained silent, instinctively waiting for the truth I already felt. “But?”
She shook her head frantically. “I don’t want to marry them. I want Simon.”
My heart skidded to a stop, dropping into the hollow pit of my stomach. I twisted my fingers into my skirt fabric, tempted to rip it to shreds. “Mr. Windham?”
She pressed her lips together. “Ever since I was a little girl.”
I blew out a breath, falling backward to the mattress. I blinked blankly. Of course, Anna loved Mr. Windham—she only wished for the best in every way. A marriage match would not be different. If I was lucky, she might find it in her heart to offer a discarded beau, Mr. Rowley or Mr. Collidge, if only they could find me fit enough for an offer.
I closed my eyes and shook with laughter. I wanted neither.
Anna sighed, running one finger around her other palm. Her eyes had already dried, and her lips curled into one of her victorious grins. “He knows I love him, and he cared for me at one time—I know he did, but then he went away the past two years, and when he returned…I saw him once in London, and he could barely stand to look at me. But not to worry, I have decided to win him once again, granted you do not try for him.”
“Me?” My laughter grew richer. “You cannot honestly believe that he would choose me, when he might have you?”
Anna grabbed my hand, sitting all the way up. “You must not speak like that.”
“If you were truly worried that I might catch Mr. Windham’s fancy, why did you invite me for the summer? You have never so much as mentioned Elliot’s friend. Is Mr. Windham the reason you have not answered Mr. Collidge and Mr. Rowley—and whatever that other man’s name is?”
“You are right, as always. I could not accept another until I saw Simon, until I forced him to acknowledge me again. And, as far as inviting you—that was never a question. You have become the sister I never had.” Her eyes snapped shut. “In asking you this, I am fully aware of my ridiculousness, but please, do not try for Simon. I spoke the truth this morning when I told you that you are every bit as charming, if not more, than I could hope to be.”
I sighed. I could not fault her, not when I understood why. Mr. Windham was unlike any other man I had met. I already considered him one of the most enjoyable men of my acquaintance. I stroked her hair with one hand. “I could not approve of your choice more fully, even on such short acquaintance. Of course, I will honor your request. You are more important to me than any man. Besides, if what you say is true, Mr. Windham is already in love with you, and you need only remind him.”
She squealed, leaning her head against my shoulder once more. “I do hope to. Thank you for understanding. I knew you would.”
I nodded. “But I hope you will not mind if I remain friends with him? I do find him quite diverting.”
“Not at all. Oh, I nearly forgot,” Anna said, standing and running to my armoire. “In honor of our guests, I thought you should have a new gown.”
“Anna—”
She held up her hand. “Not to worry. This dress is one I grew tired of. I had the hem taken down an inch to accommodate your height. Now, I will send Emily in to attend to you. Do not be late. Mr. Barrington and Mr. Gregory are downstairs now, and you must look your best.”
I wanted to protest; I wanted to hide beneath the covers. Why did Anna think I had a chance at any of the gentlemen the Somerville’s hurled at me, and, more concerning, did she really believe I would readily agree to marry anyone that offered?
I rose from the bed and took the dress from the hanger. The gold fabric was finer than many that hung beside it and certainly all that hung in my own armoire, but I did not bother denying her now, not when she had so clearly laid out her expectations.
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
She squealed for the second time and lightly clapped her hands. “We shall both be married by summer’s end!”
I quirked a brow. For her decree to come to fruition, I would need a miracle. Perhaps the dress was the start.
Mr. Gregory towered over the guests seated at the dinner table. He lifted h
is glass to the hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Sommerville, who were seated at the head of the table. “I thought a toast was in order, as a token of gratitude for your hospitality.”
Mr. Somerville, a stern man that openly disliked parties and people, managed to speak. “Very well, Gregory.”
Anna, seated between Mr. Windham and Elliot, shot me an expectant smile from across the table—though her lips hardly needed to move a stitch. She had been smiling like a sleeping cat since finding her name by Mr. Windham’s table setting.
Mr. Gregory, a slender gentleman that wore lace cuffs, stood directly beside me. He cleared his throat.
“Kippers, herring, ham, and egg.
Pudding, fruit, and beets.
One could never think to beg,
For such delicious treats.”
I nearly inhaled my bite of ham, and I coughed into my napkin, wiping at my glistening eyes. Mrs. Somerville had spoken of Mr. Gregory’s propensity for the dramatic and that he fancied himself an amateur poet, but nothing could have prepared me for the table-spread sonnet.
Obligatory applause rang down the table, and we lifted our glasses in sync.
“Not too shabby for spur of the moment,” Mr. Gregory mumbled to himself, returning to his seat beside me.
“How do you do it?” Miss Guppy, on his other side, asked. With her brown hair braided into a perfect coil around her head she looked nothing like a goldfish. Her petite features and gentle voice reminded me of Juliet. “I could never compose such a verse without notice.”
I dabbed a napkin at my lips, daring to look across the table. Mr. Windham stared back, and his lips quivered. He took a bite of beets and sighed. “Such delicious eats,” he said just loud enough for me to hear, cutting Anna off mid-sentence.
I bit the inside of my cheek and turned away. If I intended to maintain composure after Mr. Gregory’s ridiculous words—and I did—I could not pay Mr. Windham any attention. I cut into my ham once more.
Anna had hardly stopped speaking long enough to breathe, and still Mr. Windham watched me.
Since I could remember, I had walked the shores of Flamborough. Whenever a Bridlington fisherman dove into the water to retrieve something, they returned with reddened cheeks, gasping for breath. I had witnessed the scene many times during my walks on the beach, and Mr. Windham looked to be as desperate for a breath of silence.
Mr. Gregory let out a chuckle—the pretentious kind I could not stomach, the kind that continued far too long. He wiped a wet finger over one brow, and alternated glances from Miss Guppy to me. “Words, once mastered, have a way of finding a person. Words and phrases are simply dished into my mind like food to the plate in front of me, and I am left to savor them or share them. I do so like sharing.”
“How fortunate,” I said, clasping my hands together on my lap. I had not meant to say a word, and, had I tried, I could not have sounded more insincere. I pressed on, determined to right myself, “To have words come so effortlessly—you must put them to paper.”
“Precisely my thoughts, Miss Kinsley. I have already begun several volumes. I do believe each subject deserves its own book, don’t you? Or are you, like the majority of readers, persuaded to believe that so many different ideas belong in a single book?” His words burst through his lips, and I could see he had been waiting for someone to suggest he write.
Mr. Windham clipped his plate with the fork, and when I glanced his way, he trembled from his efforts to keep from grinning.
“I...I…” I swept a bite of food around my plate with the silver fork. What would my sister Juliet say? She knew everything about poetry. “Suppose a reader might tire of one subject matter? There are only so many types of food.”
“On the contrary!” Mr. Gregory said, shifting his weight in his chair. His hair, an indistinguishable mix between blond and brown, bounced with his movement, and his unnerving gray eyes widened. “I have poems about all my favorite dishes. My favorite was composed about my favorite meal, naturally, roasted duck.”
I tilted my head, and I parted my lips to speak, but a puff of air was all I managed. I knew nothing of poetry, besides what Juliet recited, but I was fairly certain a poem about roasted duck would be torturous to listen to—for the reader and the animal—unless I was particularly famished.
Thankfully, Miss Guppy filled the silence for me, and the pair of them conversed for some time.
Mr. Gregory was strange, to be sure. Yet, there was a part of me that admired this man; upon only a moment’s meeting, he expressed his opinions and paraded his perceived strengths.
London society had choked all personality from me.
Glancing down the table of strangers, I could not help but wonder—had I become as indistinguishable as the lot of them? My reflection from earlier had revealed a very different lady from the one I knew last fall, and I did not like the rendition. What did marriage—to any of the men seated at the table—mean if I was not happy?
My youngest sister Charlotte collected shells from the water’s edge. She liked to study them and guess at the animal that had once inhabited each one. I felt as rigid and rough as a shell of her collection, as empty as the carved curve. If she were to hold me to her ear, would she hear the echoes of what I once was?
“Miss Kinsley,” a man from behind said, breaking through my reverie. Mr. Barrington, the most reserved of the Somerville’s new guests, held out a hand. “Would you like me to escort you to the parlor?”
I flinched when I realized I was the last lady still seated. “Thank you, Mr. Barrington. I hope I will be forgiven for losing myself in my thoughts,” I said, accepting his outstretched hand and standing. “But you needn’t escort me. I know my way to the parlor well enough.”
His sharp features—or what I had assumed were sharp at first meeting—softened. “I believe thoughts are the best place to get lost.”
Mr. Windham looked to me with an unspoken question on his furrowed brow.
I curtsied, rushing to meet the line of ladies at the door. Two hours ago, I might have been overcome with embarrassment, but two hours ago, I had forgotten myself. Now, I felt as if the echoes of myself were not so very far away, and, maybe, if I was quick, I might just catch them.
Chapter 14
Simon
As grateful as I was for Anna’s departure after our meal, I stared upon Mr. Barrington with envy. Being seated on the opposite side of the table from Miss Kinsley meant that I was in no position to offer my assistance, without also making a statement as to my preference. There were far too many details for me to sort with Elliot and Anna if I were to even consider an honest courtship with Miss Kinsley, or anyone else, for that matter.
I clung to the notion that we would be sharing the same home and grounds for several weeks yet. Though, she was quite a puzzle. She hadn’t been at a loss for words in the stables—at least she hadn’t seemed so. But at dinner, she’d barely spoken. Although, what could one say to a man so wholly proud of himself for a poem I’d have recited as a child?
Mr. Gregory’s invitation, considering the Somerville’s propensity for society, was a mystery. He must have import within the ton that I was not privy to. Not that I cared much about the latest gossip amongst England’s elite.
“You, my friend, have been traveling for too long.” Elliot laughed next to me before taking long drink. “You have lost yourself in thought again.”
I opened my mouth to ask Elliot to please relay my sentiments to Anna. Again. I clamped my mouth shut instead. We’d avoided a quarrel on this topic earlier, but I wasn’t sure where Elliot stood on this matter—at least not fully.
With three proposals to her credit, and two years of separation, I couldn’t conceive of what Anna was holding on to. If she found me serious, she didn’t know me. Yes, I was serious in serious matters as anyone with sense would be. But there was no teasing Anna. She would either mistake my tease for flirtation or be offended. Either reaction would not bode well for me.
“When do your parents arrive?” Elli
ot asked.
“My mother will likely persuade my father to come for the ball.” I was honestly not quite sure about Mother. “I would suppose Mother will come when she is ready.”
Elliot chuckled at that. “And, is she bringing your grandmother?”
“I imagine so,” I responded. “Mother doesn’t like to leave her with strangers. They are permanently moving her into the house as we speak.”
Elliot’s mouth pulled into a thin line.
Mr. Gregory stood once again and recited some nonsense about pretty young ladies, which was off-color, though I’m not quite sure if he was much aware of it.
“An interesting bloke, eh?” Elliot nudged my elbow. “But nearly ten-thousand a year. Mother couldn’t pass up the chance to have him come.”
As Gregory continued to speak about the delicacies of language, and spittle gathered on his lower lip, I was once again astounded at what one would tolerate for a person with financial means.
And what was often not tolerated when a person did not have means. Naturally, my thoughts strayed to Miss Kinsley. Her lack of means. A country doctor. A profession that would surely lend itself to her curious mind and personable nature. But would she have had time to develop the talents of a more refined young woman? What a difficult place she was in—and to be friends with Anna no less. I could only imagine the compliments that Anna would toss like scrap to someone so far beneath Anna’s station.
If Miss Kinsley were the daughter of a titled man, I wondered if their friendship would be different. Although, I was still making assumptions. And Mother had been correct on one account, Anna had been maturing for two years. I could not assume she was the same young woman she’d been when I’d departed.
“Dear friend.” Elliot set a drink in front of me. “I’m sorry to say that you are no fun at all this evening.”
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