In Love with a Gentleman (19 page)

“Okay, let’s go,” he says, his eyes gleaming.

I laugh rather loudly but keep it under control. Thankfully, no one turns around to look at us.
Be ladylike, Lea
, I say sternly to myself. “Unfortunately, we can’t do that,” I say. “I’ll die of starvation.”

The waiter soon comes with our meal, and we dig in. Ethan is so wonderfully noble and discreet. He doesn’t speak much, so I while away the time observing the other guests and looking around the restaurant. The entire hotel is decorated in a historical style with lots of antiques. We could be a couple living in the nineteenth century, if it weren’t for the fact that we’re both wearing jeans instead of a long frock coat for him and a floor-length dress for me.

“Isn’t it wonderful that we live in modern times?” I say.

Ethan looks up from his soup and says, “What do you mean?”

“I’m just so glad to be with you, and you with me—like you said before.”

“And what does that have to do with modern times?” He looks at me as if I’m not very bright.

“Think about it—a hundred years ago, our being together would have probably been a huge scandal. My father would have probably had a duel with you, or we would have had to travel to Gretna Green so you could make an honest woman out of me.”

He smirks. “What possesses you to come up with such things?”

“I do it all the time,” I say. “I majored in English literature of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and the novels of the period often involve scandals like that. In
Pride and Prejudice
, Elizabeth Bennet’s world collapses when her younger sister takes off with a man. In George Eliot’s
The Mill on the Floss
, the heroine is shunned by society because she’s alone with a young man on a rowboat that drifts out to sea, where they are picked up by a fishing boat. Tess in Thomas Hardy’s
Tess of the d’Urbervilles
has an extramarital affair.” I’m completely wrapped up in the topic. “Should I tell you what happens to her in the end? Have you read the book?”

Ethan shakes his head. “Honestly, I don’t find it very interesting. The stories sound like something out of a dime-store novel.”

I feel like he threw cold water on my face. My beloved novels! The crème de la crème of English literature like dime-store novels?
Okay
, I tell myself,
it’s Ethan’s right not to be too interested in English literature
. Not everyone has a soft spot for it. I’ve been really into this subject for a long time.
Actually, most guys aren’t into this kind of thing
, I think in an attempt to console myself.

“What do you like to read?” I ask.

“Oh, sometimes hunting or car magazines,” he says. “I don’t need anything else.”

Of course! I should have thought of it myself.
Real men read hunting or car magazines. That’s Ethan. I’m mollified. Although .
 
. . “I wish I could get you excited about literature,” I say. “You can learn so much about people from books.”

Ethan rests his spoon against the edge of the bowl, blots his mouth with a napkin, and reaches for his wineglass. “Lea, don’t get mad at me, but I’ve always hated literature. It’s all just fantasy and silly crushes.” He sees the hurt look on my face and adds, “But it’s nice that you have fun reading it. Even if your degree ends up being useless, you’ll have a nice hobby with which to pass the time. That’s good.”

Of course, I can’t expect him to share my enthusiasm—definitely not. I silently turn to my food. Sometimes I do wonder if my degree is practical. Maybe I should have studied something more hands-on, like architecture. But to do that, I would have needed to know math, and I was always quite hopeless at it in school. I’m a little bent out of shape that Ethan thinks so poorly of my intellectual pursuits. Maybe other people feel the same way. Maybe they pretend to be impressed just so they won’t hurt my feelings. Maybe Jens only visited the museum in Cambridge with me because he has a crush on me. I’m gradually becoming aware of a pattern: the more time I spend with Ethan, the more I admire him. My self-image was probably quite inflated. Good. Ethan is helping me keep my ego in check. I was definitely arrogant and conceited.

Later we climb upstairs to our room. Once inside, I wrap my arms around his neck. “Ethan?” I say.

“Yes?”

“Do you know that I love you?”

He smiles disarmingly at me in a way that warms my heart. “I already assumed as much, otherwise you wouldn’t have come to Thorpeness with me.”

“I had no other choice. You marched into Alice’s house and said”—I lower my voice to a low grumble—“‘I came to kidnap Lea.’”

Ethan laughs. “Of course. I knew exactly what I wanted.”

“That’s exactly why I love you. You’re so strong and self-assured. Next to you, I feel so small and insignificant, like a tiny mosquito.”

Ethan fumbles with the buttons of my blouse. “Come on, little mosquito, off to bed,” he murmurs in my ear.

The next morning we stay in bed late—we can’t keep our hands off each other. After breakfast, we go to the beach and walk along the sea. We’re silent most of the time. Why not? It’s nice to be quiet. You can hear the sound of the waves, the chirping of the sandpipers, and even the rustle of beach grass in the wind. It’s really beautiful. That said, the silence takes some getting used to. I usually talk quite a lot, but whenever I broach a subject with Ethan, he only murmurs in response or doesn’t react at all. That’s okay, though. Normally I chatter nonstop. It will be good to learn how to be calmer and more thoughtful. Calm, thoughtful people seem more profound, like Ethan.

Later, when I’m packing my bag to go home, I sigh loudly.

“What is it?” Ethan asks. “Are you in pain?”

“Yes,” I say. “My heart aches. We had such a wonderful weekend. I’m sad that it’s coming to an end.”

Ethan doesn’t respond, but I’m sure he feels the same as I do. On the trip home, my heart gets heavier and heavier. Ethan will drop me off at Alice’s, and what’s going to happen after that?

As we drive past the sign to Gatingstone, Ethan says, “I’m glad you don’t live with that old pair of control freaks anymore. Alice isn’t so old-fashioned. I think she’s happy you’re with me.”

“Absolutely,” I say.

“Certainly she wouldn’t have anything against my visiting you there.”

“Definitely not,” I say happily. Then it hits me, and I add rather sheepishly, “You can only come over during the day, though. She has pretty strict house rules.”

Ethan doesn’t say anything, but I see his jaw tense as if he’s upset about it.

I say quickly, “Maybe I could visit you sometime in Brantwood?”

“That wouldn’t be smart. I don’t like to bother my roommates with my personal life. The apartment is quite small.”

How terrible
, I think. How in the world can we spend more time together under these circumstances?

“Don’t worry your sweet, little head, mosquito,” Ethan says. “We’ll find a way to be together. You’ll see.”

When we arrive at Rose Cottage, he leans over and kisses me very intensely. His hand wanders underneath my blouse. I push it away gently. “Don’t make this any more difficult for me than it has to be,” I say. Then I kiss him, grab my bag, and jump out of the car.

“See you soon,” he says. Then he starts the car and drives away.

Chapter 10

Catherine returns from Brittany relaxed and refreshed, and, naturally, she wants to resume our usual activities.

“Are we going to play tennis again? That would be so cool. The weather is great. How about Thursday?” she asks me during our lunch break on our first day back at school.

“I can’t. I have a date.” Actually, Ethan needs new hunting boots, so I’m accompanying him on his shopping trip to Colchester.

“Whoa! A date!” Catherine exclaims. “Is there something I don’t know?”

I struggle a little; then I confess: “Yes, I’m seeing someone.”

Catherine is pleased. “How great! Who is it? Where did you meet him? You have to tell me everything.”

We’re in the school cafeteria, and the noise is deafening, as always. “Here?” I say. “Impossible!”

“Okay, then, I’ll come by your place this afternoon. I want to check out where you ended up, anyway.”

Just then Ethan walks by our table. He doesn’t look at me—we’ve decided not to advertise our relationship—but in passing he glides his hand briefly over my shoulder, his fingertips stroking my neck. No one would have noticed if I hadn’t turned beet red under Catherine’s sharp gaze. Crap! The slight physical contact and my reaction don’t escape her attention.

She says immediately, “Is it him? Are you seeing Mr. Derby?”

I nod. I admit, I’m a bit proud of it. Ethan is the most sought-after bachelor around, and I’m with him.

I expected Catherine to squeal or go pale with envy. Instead, she just looks dumbfounded and shakes her head. “I can’t believe it. You—with him? Don’t you know what everybody says about him? He’s an incorrigible womanizer!”

“Oh, that’s absolutely not true. People say that just because he’s so good-looking. People always think that about handsome men.”

But Catherine isn’t convinced. How can I convey to her what a wonderful man he is? I’m still thinking how to say it—I can’t just tell her that sex with him is over the top—when Catherine jumps up to clear away her plate.

“I personally can’t suffer him one bit,” Catherine says, standing over me. “He cut me off before autumn break from one day to the next. Now he ignores me completely.”

I look at her, totally perplexed. “Why would he do such a thing? You must be mistaken.” Maybe Catherine begrudges my happiness. Maybe she’s a little jealous. I’ll always have to live with this type of thing as Ethan’s wife.

Catherine bends down and says in my ear, “Oh no, I’m not mistaken, Lea. I can tell you exactly when he cut me off. It was the night he took me out on a date and I told him quite clearly that I wouldn’t sleep with him.” She straightens up and walks off, her head held high. I’m thunderstruck.

On the way home, I brood over her words. What kind of a strange story is that? Did Catherine make it up? I can’t believe what she said is true. Unless it went something like this . . . Ethan must have invited her on a date out of politeness. As a foreign student, she’s a little lonely. Exactly. After all, she made crêpes for everyone. The date was a small thank-you for her efforts. That is so typical of Ethan. He’s a gentleman through and through. He must have noticed that Catherine felt attracted to him. Maybe he knew about her boyfriend and didn’t want Catherine’s hopeless crush to ruin things for them. Ethan obviously had no interest in Catherine at that time because he was already totally interested in me. I know this from our evening at the pub when he whispered such sweet nothings in my ear. Catherine sensed his coldness toward her, and because she liked him very much—how could a woman be with Ethan and
not
like him—she said something snide, like she wouldn’t sleep with him, anyway. That’s when Ethan decided, in keeping with his well-bred manners, that it would be better for them both if he gave her a wide berth in the future.

Poor Catherine! I feel so sorry for her. It’s hard enough to be rebuffed, but then to see how happy I am with Ethan? I hope it doesn’t hurt our friendship. I really like her a lot. I hope she’ll still come by this afternoon.

When she does, I’m so pleased that I put extra effort into making tea while she admires the living room.

“It’s really great here,” she says approvingly. “Much brighter and more comfortable than at the Lanes’.”

“Yes,” I say. “And in a few days I’ll even have my own bathroom.” I tell her how I ended up moving and about the fight with the Lanes.

“Frankly, I wondered how you stuck it out for so long,” Catherine says. “I couldn’t have survived a week. They smothered you so much.”

“It wasn’t
that
bad,” I say. “They meant well. But now that I live here and I’m independent again, I feel really great. Ethan was the one who suggested I move out.”

Catherine stiffens when I mention his name. What an ass I am! I wasn’t going to bring him up. I don’t want to hurt her unnecessarily. I only did it because my head is so full of thoughts about him these days I’d really prefer to talk of nothing else.

Catherine measures her words carefully. “Lea, I respect the fact that you are seeing Ethan. I also respect the fact that you have a different opinion of him than I do, but don’t expect me to talk about him with you. I don’t talk about Christian incessantly.”

“Sorry,” I say. “You’re right.” I quickly finish setting the table and bring in the cake and teapot. As I pour the tea, I say, “Let’s talk about something else. How was Brittany?”

“Super nice! I was so happy to see my family again—and my boyfriend, too. I’m going back home again for Christmas. I’m really looking forward to it. I must admit, I sometimes get terribly homesick.”

I say, “I do, too, but I think it’s a shame not to use time off to explore when you’re abroad.”

“Yes, you’re right, of course,” Catherine says, “but I also miss my loved ones. I figured out a great solution for spring break. My older sister is coming to England during her Easter holidays, and we’re going to see Cornwall together. It’s supposed to be really beautiful there—I always wanted to visit. My sister is going to drive, we’ll travel up the coast and stay at a vacation rental.”

I sigh. “That sounds so heavenly.”

“You’re invited,” she says. “It would be so fantastic if you could come. Inez is going, too.”

I blush and sheepishly say, “I don’t know whether that will work. We—I mean, I—may have other plans then.”

Catherine stays cool. She bites into her cake with relish and says happily, “You don’t have to decide immediately. We’ve got a couple months.”

As we eat and sip our tea, we chat about all sorts of things. Then there’s a pause, and Catherine looks at me thoughtfully. She suddenly asks, “Are you really okay?”

I roll my eyes. “Why do you ask that? Of course! I’m the happiest woman in the world!”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem so subdued, as if you’re under some sort of strain.”

I look at her with puzzlement. What does she mean?

“I’m trying to find the right words,” she says. “Usually you’re so lighthearted and easygoing. You laugh about everything. But today you seem so different. Did something happen with your family?”

“No, nothing happened,” I say. “You’re imagining it. I’m still the same old Lea.”

“Good,” she says. But for the rest of her visit, she continues to give me strange looks, as if there is still something about me that bothers her. As we say our good-byes, I wonder whether she’s trying to spoil things with me and Ethan a little. Maybe she wants to make sure I’m not that happy because she’s jealous. That wouldn’t be very nice of her, but I’ll overlook it. I don’t really have many friends in Gatingstone, and I would miss her terribly if we had a serious falling-out.

The next night all of us teachers meet up at the pub. Ethan and I don’t sit next to each other, and I’m glad. His physical proximity would excite me too much, and everyone would see how crazy I am about him. Yet everyone seems to sense what’s going on, anyway. People exchange furtive, knowing glances. Did Catherine say something? Maybe—I didn’t ask her not to.

“How was Cambridge?” Anne asks me. “I see Ethan delivered you there in one piece.”

I regale everyone with stories about my visit, including the chaotic house. Everyone seems quite amused. Ethan is silent, then at one point exclaims, “Our Lea is crazy! Everyone knows that staying with a bunch of students is bound to be a mess. Listening to you, Lea, you seem proud of your experience. But admit it, you’re guilty of creating that situation.”

The others are naturally eager to hear Ethan’s reasoning. He smiles and says, “Lea let her hairdresser arrange her accommodations.”

Our table roars with merriment. I laugh a little, but I really don’t think it’s all that funny. Hopefully, they don’t all think I’m some sort of airhead.

“Don’t let it bother you, Lea,” Ethan says. “In English, we say, ‘live and learn.’ You’re still wet behind the ears, so let the wind blow on them until they dry.”

Although he looks at me tenderly, I’m a bit upset. I consider myself an adult, but Ethan obviously sees things differently. To be honest, I’m not so sure of myself anymore. All at once, I feel really small and helpless. I’m glad I have such a confident boyfriend; maybe some of his confidence will rub off on me. As a precaution, I’m silent the rest of the evening and just listen to the others chat. Catherine stares at me quite intensely, then looks away quickly when I catch her eye. What’s on her mind? Perhaps she’s thinking,
I’m so much prettier than Lea; I don’t understand why Ethan prefers her over me.

As it gets late, our lively group gradually leaves the pub. Only Ethan and I remain.

“You’re not mad at me about earlier?” Ethan asks gently.

I know what he’s referring to, but I act as though I don’t. “About?” I ask.

“How I had a little fun at your expense.”

I shake my head. “It was still a nice evening. I think a person ought to be able to laugh at herself.”

“That’s very kind of you. It’s just that you are so terribly childish and naïve, my little mosquito.” He puts his arm around me and pulls me to him. “When and where can we meet again?” he whispers in my ear, giving me goose bumps.

I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s your call.”

“How about if I come by your place after school? I saw a door hidden in the back of the garden.”

A chill goes through my body. That would be risky, even if it does make me tingle all over. I decide against it. “I don’t want to give Alice any reason to kick me out,” I say. “I really like living there. Besides, Maura could catch us.”

“Well, I’m looking into a small country inn for the weekend,” Ethan says.

When we leave the pub, Ethan pulls me into the shadows away from the streetlights. He kisses me so passionately it takes my breath away.

“Good night, mosquito,” he says, and disappears.

Mosquito. Ethan uses it as my nickname, and right now, it seems quite appropriate. I feel like a small, buzzing mosquito that must constantly swirl around Ethan in order to survive.

On Thursday, we are going shopping in Colchester. Ethan rings the doorbell at four. Before I make it downstairs, someone lets him in. Apparently Maura has the day off from work. I hasten my steps and storm past Maura to throw my arms around Ethan in an attempt to kiss him. It occurs to me that Maura should see we are together right away. You never know.

“Hello, Ethan!” I say.

Ethan hugs me quickly, then pushes me away. His eyes glide over Maura’s lush curves. She throws her auburn hair over one shoulder and appraises him boldly. Ethan’s gaze remains on her in a way I do not like at all.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s go,” I say quickly. “The shops aren’t going to be open for much longer, and we have a long drive ahead of us.” I’ve never called him “sweetheart” before. I feel his look of irritation burn through me. Uh-oh.

In the car Ethan is silent for quite a while. Only when we’re on the highway does he finally say something. “Lea, I think we have to clear something up. I don’t like public displays of affection. Also, I don’t like it when you call me ‘sweetheart.’ It sounds so cheap.”

I hang my head. I did something wrong—again. Crap! Sometimes I wonder how long Ethan will be able to put up with me. Will he finally get fed up with me and ditch me? I’d only have myself to blame for my misery. Sometimes I act like a spoiled child. Why don’t I think before I do such stupid things?

“I’m sorry, Ethan,” I say. “It just slipped out. But since you call me ‘mosquito,’ I’d like to have a pet name for you, too.”

“Ethan’s a lovely name. I think you should just stick with that,” he says.

I can understand. Ethan
is
a beautiful name. Perhaps nicknames are a little derogatory. At the Lanes’, I’d gotten used to being called “love,”
but maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe they wouldn’t have smothered me so much if I’d forbidden them to call me that from the outset. Under certain circumstances, keeping your distance is definitely better. But I do feel a little put out when I think that Ethan wants
me
to keep my distance. We’re a couple. I wouldn’t do anything that would hurt him. I love him too much for that. Should I tell him that? Right here, right now? I decide against it. I respect his position. Maybe I’ll succeed, little by little, in convincing him to let his guard down. I’ll definitely need to be patient.

Ethan finds his hunting boots quickly. He knows the style he wants and where to find them. Later, he says, “I’d like to get you something nice for coming with me. What would you like?”

“Oh, we don’t have to do that.”

“Come on.”

“Then I’d really like to browse a bookstore.”

Ethan snorts. “I thought you girls liked new clothes or shoes. That’s what I would have expected.”

I look at him sternly. “I’m not ‘you girls,’ Ethan. I’m an educated woman who wants to learn more.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he says. “I like you the way you are. Once I marry, my wife won’t necessarily have to work.”

My heart skips a beat. He said, “Once I marry.”
That sounds electrifying. It’s the first time Ethan has spoken to me directly about marriage. Is it possible that I’ll have the insanely good luck to spend my entire life with him? How wonderful would that be?