Glimmers (23 page)

“Here, this may be of better use to you than me,” he offers, placing the cloth in my hand. I stare down at it and realize he must have just cleaned jam off my face!

“Excuse me, Mr. Andrew, I must get through.”

“Emma, earlier today I spoke too freely and insulted your integrity. I am truly sorry for my poor behavior and promise to make amends,” he says, and I glance up to see whether or not he is sincere. Perhaps he is . . . a little.

“I suppose I accept your apology, under the condition you will refrain from further insults. You may speak of the weather and little else.”

“I suppose that will be more than acceptable. May I also remark, my odd behavior is not entirely my fault,” says Mr. Andrew with a grin.

“Oh, and who is to share in the blame for your tactlessness?”

“You are, of course.”

“How do you suppose I am responsible for your ill manners?” I ask in surprise.

“It is difficult for me to remain silent when I believe you are too good for that pompous Percy Grant,” says Mr. Andrew, narrowing his stare. “Besides, I find your reactions unbelievably charming. My only regret is I anger you in the process. I suppose if only at our every encounter, I were not struck nearly witless by you, I might then be able to ponder my thoughts before speaking them.”

I look away and try to comprehend the words he has just spoken. I cannot for the life of me think of a single thing with which to reply. I open and shut my mouth, hoping for something to fill the empty void. To no avail, I remain mute in my response.

“My sincerest hope is tomorrow we may start the day as friends, at least,” he offers with a sigh.

I nod in agreement and begin to fan my face. He moves aside and allows for me to pass. My eyes are fixed on the floor, as I make my way down the long corridor.

When I am a few paces away, I turn and gaze upon his handsome face. “Mr. Andrew . . .”

“If we are to be friends, I sincerely hope you will drop the formality and call me Andrew.”

“Good-evening, Andrew,” I say in a hush.

“Good-evening, Emma,” he says, and I stare at him another moment before making my way down the dimly lit hall, aware that his gaze has remained on me its entire length.

The walk back seemingly takes forever. When I finally reach my room, I notice my palms are perspiring, making it difficult to open the door.

“There you are!” I hear Victoria say, as she appears from behind the grandfather clock. “I was afraid you had lost your way. In another moment, I would have been forced to set out in search of you.”

“Really Victoria, you should not worry on my behalf. I am perfectly able to care for myself,” I reply, still trying in earnest to open the door.

“I am not entirely certain about that, dearest sister.”

I turn and look at her in question to her remark.

“Whatever do you mean?” I inquire, feeling a rush of irritation.

“It is only . . . I think you to be a complete fool! There I have said it, do not be angry,” she says, looking triumphant.

“How is it you perceive me a fool?”

“Can you not see what has been presented to you clear as day?” she inquires, leaning over to help me open the door, and I usher her inside.

“Have you gone mad and lost all of your senses? Whatever do you mean?” I inquire, perching uneasily in front of my dressing table.

“Is it not obvious that Mr. Andrew is utterly enamored with you?”

“That is complete rubbish. He is not enamored of me,” I say, removing my cameo earrings.

“Are you blind? You cannot sit there and honestly say you have not noticed his eyes are set aflame by your mere presence. Why, he is totally besotted with you! Though why
you
and not
me
, I shall never fathom,” she says with a grin.

I stop brushing my hair and tightly grasp the soft bristles in my hand. “You truly believe he has feelings for me?”

“One would have to be absolutely blind to not recognize the gleam in his eyes when he gazes your way. I suppose that leaves the question of what you are to do about Mr. Grant.” Her eyes blaze excitedly.

“I suppose I shall do what any other rational person would . . . nothing,” I say, and the expression on Victoria’s face is one of astonishment. “First, Andrew has not indicated his intention of courting me. Second, I cannot in clear conscience insult Mr. Grant in that way. He has done nothing but to show me the utmost regard and deserves to be treated better. Third, I do not wish to upset Mama. Besides which, I must also consider your feelings for Andrew.”

“That is a lot of hogwash! If you feel even the slightest inkling of affection for Mr. Andrew, then you should marry no other,” says Victoria firmly. “And Emma, as far as you considering my feelings, although I appreciate the sentiment, I could very easily find someone other than the likes of Mr. Andrew. Good-evening and sleep well.”

Promptly, Victoria leaves, practically giggling the entire way. I am left staring into the mirror. My poor hair, I realize I am brushing it far too roughly, but I do not care. When I am finished, I pace my room and rant under my breath. After much consideration, and many hours, I finally crawl into my bed and sleep on the matter.

The next day brings little in regard to resolving my inner conflict. I rush to my dresser drawer and withdraw my diary. Perhaps, through my writing, I shall find some inner peace.

21 May

I fear Andrew has stolen my heart. What am I to do? Perhaps my feelings for him will simply pass. After all, he is different from any other man I have ever met, and since he is a foreigner, that would be understandable. I am quite certain once I truly know him well, I would find him a little boring.

4 June

More than a fortnight has passed since Andrew’s arrival…why is he still here? I thought he would have ventured back to London by now. I have spent much time with him and have come to understand him quite well. Unfortunately, I have not grown bored with him. In fact, I fear my feelings are growing beyond fondness. The urgency of my desire has stretched to the depths of my soul. It is torturous spending day after day beside him, with little more than flirtatious sentiments and longing eyes.

But Mama will have a fit if I tell her I cannot marry Mr. Grant . . .

~ * * * ~

My family has just been seated in the dining room, ready to enjoy our meal, when there is a harsh knock on our front door. A man is brought into the room by our servant. The stranger’s hair is wet and clothes dirty. My father stands and greets the man, offering him a plate of food.

“I must see Mr. Andrew Stone. I carry an urgent message,” says the man quickly.

“Please, let us retire to the other room,” says Andrew, motioning to the door. He excuses himself and exits the room, leaving my family to stare at each other with wide eyes.

“Whatever do you suppose that was about? I do so hope everything is all right,” my mother says.

Although everyone else is able to eat, I stare at the vacant door frame. I am flooded with concern and can feel my insides twist into knots. Andrew and the messenger are gone for an interminable length of time. When Andrew finally does reenter the dining room, his face is flushed.

“I am afraid I have been presented with terrible news. My mother has written me a letter. She is ill, and I need to return home. I am sorry, but I must make haste and return to London this evening,” Andrew informs us.

“Of course, my dear boy, you must go where you are needed. I can see that your business affairs here are settled,” my father offers.

“Many thanks, sir. I will return as quickly as I can,” Andrew replies and turns his attention to me. “Emma, may I have a word?”

Without speaking, I rise from my chair and follow him into the next room. I am struck with emotion at his having to leave and am holding back tears. Before exiting the room, I can hear Victoria giggle and Mama’s admonition to hush, reminding her it would be inappropriate to eavesdrop.

Andrew pauses in the center of the floor and takes my hands carefully into his. He gazes earnestly into my eyes.

“You must know, I would not entertain the idea of leaving if it were not a matter of dire importance,” he says, and his stare deepens.

I nod and can feel a stream of water run down my face. I feel ridiculous at my open display of emotion.

“Please, do not be sad,” he says sweetly.

When I finally manage to look at him, I realize he is smiling.

“How is it you are happy at a moment like this?” I question, becoming enraged.

“I am sorry, but until this moment you have been rather restrained about showing how you feel. I must admit it pleases me that my absence will sadden you a bit,” he says, and my mouth hangs open a little.

“You enjoy watching me suffer?”

He shakes his head and holds his hand gently beneath my chin.

“No, of course not,” he says, wiping a tear from under my eye. “It does please me that perhaps we share the same affections. Emma, I do not attempt to deny my feelings. If you can wait, I will return for you.”

Tears continue streaming down my face, and I am unable to respond. I nod my head and place one of my hands over my mouth. I try to collect my emotions and manage to say, “Please, be careful on your journey home and give my regards to your mother. I do hope she recovers soon.”

“I shall. She will be all right, but she cannot be expected to run the business on her own right now.”

Abruptly, Papa walks into the room. I was not aware of how close my body was to Andrew’s, until now, and we are forced to pull away.

“I am sorry for the intrusion. Is there anything I can help you with?” inquires Papa, appearing genuinely concerned.

“I thank you, but that will not be necessary. I believe I can pack my things quickly enough and be on my way,” Andrew announces and returns his gaze on me. “I will see you again, sooner than you think.”

He leaves and is escorted by my father, and I am left alone feeling terrible. I feel as if my insides have been rearranged, so my stomach is now in my throat and my heart now resides where my stomach used to be. I am not well enough to return to supper, so I sit and stare vacantly at my hands. I can hear someone enter the room but cannot lift my head. Instead, I stare despairingly downward.

“I am dreadfully sorry about Andrew’s having to leave. Terrible luck that is,” says Edmund sympathetically. “I have no doubt he will return. When he does, he will most likely rush to find you.”

I say nothing in return. Edmund places his arm around me and gives a supportive hug. I feel comfort in his strength and lean my head on his shoulder. We sit like this for quite a long while, and when I am ready, I return to the dining table.

10 June

I have received a letter from Andrew! He must have mailed it before his departure from London. I have saved it in a hidden compartment of my dressing table. I reread the script over and over and have memorized its contents by now. I still cannot believe he referred to me as his “Little Sweetie” and included a handkerchief! I imagine he was hysterical with laughter when he wrote that.

14 June

Moments ago, I received a message from Mr. Grant. He will arrive here in the morning. I suspect he means to propose. Although, I knew this day would come, I had hoped I would have more time. Now, what should I say?

Since Andrew’s departure, Mama commented on my surprisingly cheery disposition. After all, I have acted as though his absence has affected me little. I realize life must go on, but my heart still yearns to be with him. Mama knows about my feelings for Andrew and has released me from my prior arrangement with Mr. Grant. Although I was planning on releasing myself from the engagement, I was relieved to have her understand, none the less.