Amy Snow (36 page)

“You came on Saturday afternoon? But Henry, I waited in for you all day!”

“You did?” His smile is wider, easier, but a little sheepish. “Ah, now Amy, I am about to tell you the truth, which is to say I am about to embarrass myself horribly. Are you prepared to like me even if you think me a fool?”

I promise that I shall.

“Excellent. I'm glad you're a forgiving sort, Amy. Considering I'm supposed to be smart, I can be a bit of an idiot. When I came by that day, I found you talking on the street with an extremely handsome fellow, very shiny indeed. It was just the two of you and you were smiling and you looked so happy. He held your arm and you were stroking his horses together. You were both dressed very fine and you looked . . . right together, I suppose. He was obviously very rich and very successful and all the things I'm not—”

“But Henry! It wasn't like that! I never—”

“No wait, please let me finish, Amy. If you've been waiting, as you say, you deserve an explanation. He leapt in the carriage and drove off and you spent the longest time, Amy, looking after him, as if you could not bear to see him go. And I was watching you.”

I am lost in disbelief. “Henry, where
were
you?”

“Just up the street, just about there,” he points.

“You should have called out! Or why didn't you call at the house when I went in?”

“I lost my nerve and that's the truth of it. I'm sorry. You keep running off, you know, in London, and then again last week, and I know you have a great deal to think about other than me. But you went to Lord Littleton's ball that night; you move in the finest circles. That man you were talking to looked as though he belongs in them. And so did you. I thought maybe our friendship was something bigger for me than it must be for you.”

I shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. “My dear Henry, if you only knew! It isn't like that at
all
! Our friendship is precious to me, and I was so happy to see you again in Bath. I wasn't staring after Mr. Garland that day, I was staring after the horses! I love horses, Henry. I was smiling that day because the
horses
were so beautiful! Mr. Garland is a friend of my hostess and I know him a little from Twickenham, too. And we weren't alone! Mrs. Riverthorpe was already in the carriage. Oh, Henry, you
are
a bit of an idiot, aren't you?”

I begin to grin myself. It feels so good to speak so frankly to him, and to realize that I am important to him. He was
jealous
, I smile to myself. Now he is beaming too, and at last it is the smile I have remembered—the smile that makes everything in the world feel right. For a long while we stand there and it feels as though there is much he would like to say, were we not on a street. I can feel the tension—a delicious sort of tension—fizzing up inside me and making me want to giggle.

I think Henry feels it too, for he turns his attention to the imposing facade of Hades House with an amused expression. “Lord, Amy!”

“That is just what the coachman who brought me here said.”

“Observant fellow. What a place! No wonder you were looking a little down in spirits when I ran into you on the bridge that day. Who is your hostess? A phantom in a long white dress? A winged night creature intent on sucking your blood? I hope 'tis not the latter—as an almost-doctor I would not recommend the practice.”

“Henry, you're ridiculous,” I laugh. “She is neither, although I believe, if you met her, you would find her equally improbable. Mrs. Riverthorpe is above eighty years old and she cares for public opinion not at all, yet she knows everybody and is out every night—and most days as well. I cannot work her out. You will meet her, I hope.” And we fall quiet again.

“So, if I were to call on you again soon, you would be happy to see me?” he asks, suddenly a little shy and formal.

I roll my eyes. “If you actually come, it would be delightful.”

He nods. “Touché! Thank you, Amy, I'll come. Now I suppose I mustn't detain you on the pavement any longer. My friends the Longacres are in the carriage there. We are just on our way to watch the sunset from Beachen Cliff. I don't suppose you'd join us? It promises a beautiful spectacle.”

I realize suddenly that apart from my lonely city walks I have been contained within parlors and ballrooms and dining rooms for days on end now. The passing of spring has been reduced for me to the inching of days towards Aurelia's next letter. I have lost all sense of the year turning.

“I should love to, Henry, you cannot imagine how much, but I am detained in a card party. Mrs. Riverthorpe has guests; I cannot run out on her.”

“No matter, foolishly sudden invitation. Come and say hello quickly, if you'd like, and then I'll let you get back.”

I cross the street and meet the Longacres, Gus and Ellen. They are a cordial couple a few years older than Henry, who greet me warmly and invite me to dinner the following evening. There will be dancing, they promise; oh, just a few close friends are to attend, but there will be dancing nonetheless!

I accept gladly, shake hands with everyone, and run back into the shadows of Hades House.

There I bump—quite literally—into Mr. Garland, who is standing in the hall. I disentangle myself and lay my hands on my burning cheeks. For some reason I feel caught out—and irritated. This I disguise with copious apologies, even though I could not reasonably have expected to find a gentleman just behind the doorway.

“Please do not excuse yourself, Miss Snow, I was quite in your way. Mrs. Riverthorpe sent me to see if all was well with you.”

“Oh! Mr. Garland, that was good of you. All is quite well, thank you. Merely an old friend passing by. Shall we return to the cards?”

“Indeed, I look forward to hearing further of Mr. Gladsby's enlightened views!” He winks, then places a hand on my arm. “Although . . . stay, Miss Snow, as we are alone for a moment perhaps I might briefly detain you? I have been wishing to speak to you privately for some days now, and it is not easy when Mrs. Riverthorpe does not like to be excluded from anything at all.”

I laugh; this is certainly true. I feel a little flustered that so attractive a gentleman should wish to speak to me alone, and only a moment after seeing Henry. He draws me into an alcove behind a column.

“I had rather hoped for a softer surrounding,” he murmurs. “No matter. Miss Snow, I must go to London on business tomorrow. Oh, only for three or four days, but I wanted to speak to you before I go. I am sure it can come as no surprise to you to learn that I admire you greatly.”

I look up at him in astonishment. He is wrong! I have come to accept that he had a certain interest in me, yes, but . . . he admires me greatly? Why? He looks down at me tenderly.

“Fear not, Miss Snow, this is not a proposal. I am aware that we have not known each other for very long. I am a realistic man, not some impetuous youngster, and I believe that a true connection cannot be formed overnight. I hope that ours will extend and deepen . . . However, I wished to . . . to
prepare
you, I suppose.” He laughs gently. “In case you should wish to silence me on the matter now and forever! I should not wish to cause you any discomfort. But if you are content that we continue to grow acquainted, knowing that my feelings towards you include also admiration of a more personal nature, well, that would please me greatly.”

His solemnity is overwhelming. I become very aware of the gray stone columns standing around us like witnesses. Together with the vaulted ceiling and the long stone hallway, they start to make me feel I am in church. He takes my hand gently in one of his own and lays his other on top. I must be a little numb from surprise; I can hardly feel it. Suddenly, unbidden, comes a flash of memory. Our early encounters: Mr. Garland always polite, always solicitous, ever beyond reproach . . . and me, disconcerted, wrong-footed, wanting to run away. Have I ever been truly comfortable with this man?

“Mr. Garland . . . I . . . I hardly know what to say,” I stutter.

Despite all his attentions, it seems so improbable. I cannot imagine what someone like Mr. Garland could find to admire in a patchwork sort of person such as myself. Yet Mr. Garland himself is looking down at me with the feelings he spoke of evident in his eyes. I decide to be as truthful as possible.

“Mr. Garland, I am so very flattered, and surprised, I confess. You pay me a great compliment and I thank you. You have been a good friend to me throughout my time here and you stand highly in my estimation, very highly indeed.” That is all true. I breathe more easily.

“I am happy to hear it, Miss Snow. Am I then to hope that you might look on me with favor as a suitor—in the future, if not immediately?”

“Any young woman would be glad to receive your attentions, Mr. Garland.”

“But you, Amy, would
you
be glad?”

Would I?
I can hardly tell. It is true that I have a very deep admiration for him. But could that translate into admiration of a more intimate nature? He is extremely beautiful. Sometimes I feel I could drown just from looking at him. But I feel there must be more to a match than looking at a person.

And then there is Henry.

The leap of joy I feel whenever I see Henry feels more immediate and uncomplicated than the gradually built rapport I have with Mr. Garland. But . . . now that Henry is not before me, melting my heart with those dark eyes and reassuring me with those beautiful smiles, I remember the loneliness and confusion of this past week. He hurt me. I watched him as he debated whether to call on me, then chose to walk away. And Mr. Garland was there, attentive, reliable, every day. He helped me through a difficult time, even if he was unaware of it. I accept Henry's explanation and apology; I know he is sincere. But what if he is to disappear every time he doubts my regard for him and I am to be discarded, again? It is always the most painful thing for me.

I am aware that time is passing. Mr. Garland is waiting for my answer, and Mrs. Riverthorpe and her motley band of card-playing eccentrics are awaiting our return. There does not seem to be the time to think it all through, and I feel something like one of Mrs. Riverthorpe's mysterious moths—pinned in place in a glass case. He said this is not a proposal. He is not asking for a yes or no, not now.

“I believe . . . perhaps . . . I might be, sir.” I blush, hearing my own inadequacy. “That is to say, I had not thought of it before, and you do me too great an honor. But I enjoy your company better than anyone else's in Bath, and I admire your courtesy and intelligence very much . . .” I am aware that I am thinking aloud, so I fall silent.

“That is very good to hear, Miss Snow. Perhaps we should return to the others so as not to provoke speculation, but I look forward to resuming our friendship when I return from London.”

“Yes . . . but, Mr. Garland, there is something else. I . . . I would not wish to give you false hope, and I am not my own mistress at present. It is too long and convoluted to explain, but there are circumstances in my life that mean . . . I may be leaving Bath quite soon, and I do not know where I may be sent. It must sound very strange—”

He bows over my hand and kisses it.

“Miss Snow, I am of course aware that there is a certain . . . difficulty in your circumstances. I know that you have been traveling alone and that your fortunes appear to change quite often. And of course I understand that your background places you in a somewhat
ambiguous
position. I beg to assure you that none of this in any way affects my regard for you. Please do not feel that you owe me anything in the way of explanation. The time will come for that. Shall we?”

He offers me a pale-blue sleeve and we return to the drawing room. My feelings are a muddle and I am relieved that I will not see him again for several days. I am a little resentful that this sudden event has occurred to preoccupy me so swiftly after Henry's reappearance. Uppermost, I am heartily glad that neither man has asked me to explain anything.

Then, of course, there is the uneasy pleasure that this gentleman, whom I once gazed upon with wonder as a remote stranger, has asked me to accept him as a suitor. And I can't quite remember what I said in response.