In Love with a Gentleman (27 page)

Forgiven
me
? I watch in horror as he takes something out of his pocket and bends down on one knee.

“I’m going to do this the traditional way,” he says. Then he takes my hand and says, “Lea König, I love you and would like to ask you: will you be my wife?” He’s holding a ring made of tiny, sparkling diamonds.

I’m at a loss for words, but probably not for the same reason as most women. I struggle with my composure. I’m horrified at Ethan’s insensitivity and that he would choose to propose to me at this exact moment. I just feel like crying. A month ago, I would have wrapped my arms around Ethan’s neck and jubilantly cried “Yes!” Now I just stand there quietly. Ethan is waiting with a self-confident expression, sure that his little mosquito won’t reject his proposal. When I don’t react, his face grows dark.

I shake my head violently and feel my eyes welling with tears. I turn around quickly and run away. I run down the country lane, my feet beating on the dry, dusty ground, my lungs burning, my heart bleeding, and tears running down my face as if they will never stop. I hurry inside Alice’s house, shut the door behind me, and lean against it, panting like crazy until my pulse slows down. Then I go to the kitchen and steal a look through the curtains. After a long while, I see Ethan slowly walk up to his car. He looks stern and at the same time lost in thought. He gets in and drives away. I desperately need a “nice cup of tea” and put the kettle on the stove.

I sit in the dining room, staring out at the spring garden. My tea grows cold. The sight of the withered clematis, which still hasn’t recovered from my overzealous pruning, depresses me even more. The weak, little vines sadly hang over the trellis while everything else in the garden blooms and prospers.

“You’re the one to blame,” I whisper to myself. “Did you have to be so aggressive? You could have been gentler.” But could I really have saved our relationship by being gentler? No. After all, Ethan is self-centered and stubborn. It’s completely clear to me now.

I look at my smartphone. I could install a nice, little game. My fingers itch. How comforting it would be to see candies whir across the screen . . . I suddenly hear a
ping
, which means an e-mail has arrived. My heart immediately beats faster. Maybe it’s from Ethan. Maybe he’ll write, “I’m so sorry, mosquito. I want to try to understand you and love you. Don’t leave me!”

But the e-mail says:

Yes, you’re right. It was strangely and wonderfully puzzling to me why you radiate such an infectious joy for life, which is the envy of almost everyone you meet.

I love you for confiding in me, particularly since I understand how difficult it was for you to write. I now know the secret behind it all. It makes me sad that you had to go through such a terrible experience. I’m so impressed by how you processed the tragedy in such a positive way.

Why would I want to change anything about you? I think you’re simply perfect the way you are, but I believe you’ve known that for a long time now, anyway.

It is exactly the e-mail that I wanted from Ethan—but it’s from Jens. I’m totally confused. How did Jens get a private e-mail I sent to Ethan? Did Ethan . . . ? No, of course not. He doesn’t even know Jens.

I open my inbox and click on the “Sent” icon. There has to be an explanation here somewhere. I’m completely flabbergasted now. I sent the e-mail twice, once to Ethan and once to Jens. But how . . . ? I check the time stamp on both outgoing e-mails. They’re less than a minute apart—thirty-three seconds, to be exact. I think back to that time yesterday evening, when I sent the e-mail to Ethan. And then? Inez wanted to snatch my phone away. We struggled over possession of the phone. It suddenly dawns on me. During our tussle, the e-mail was sent to Jens, of all people. Blushing at the thought, I scroll through my sent mail. Who else received the embarrassing e-mail? All of my contacts? How terrible would that be?

Thank God. It was only sent to Jens. I read his reply again. And as I read it, I get a lump in my throat. It’s so warm and sensitive . . . I shove my phone aside, lay my head on the table, and cry bitterly. I then pull myself together, wipe away my tears, and put my teacup in the kitchen. I desperately need fresh air, so I go outside to the garden. On impulse, I walk over to the reproachful clematis. I need to remove the withered branches and leaves—the sooner the better. But as soon as I touch the dry foliage, I see something. I bend over to get a better look. Little green leaf buds are sprouting from the branches.

“Okay, clematis,” I say, “you win.”

I long for summer because I’m so anxious to go home. It’s difficult for me to forget about Ethan. My time in England is overshadowed by my intense feelings for him. For me, England is Ethan.

On the first day back to school, I remove the heavy gold necklace from my neck. I stick it in an envelope and place it in Ethan’s cubby. I put on my favorite earrings. A female student compliments me on them. She says she didn’t know that I had pierced ears, and that my small silver filigreed earrings suit me incredibly well.

Ethan doesn’t look at me, and I ignore him, too. Occasionally I catch a glimpse of him when we pass each other in the hall. He hurries past me, and my heart bleeds. I look away quickly and continue on, my head held high. After the disastrous proposal, he doesn’t trouble himself with me anymore. I’m surprised to see how proud and stubborn he really is.

Alice notices Ethan doesn’t come over anymore. “What’s going on with your handsome admirer?” she asks. “Too busy with school now?”

I tell her we broke up. “Oh, what a shame,” she sighs. “He was really dreamy.”

One afternoon toward the end of the school year, I bring a little bouquet to the Lanes’ house. It takes an abnormally long time for them to answer the door, and I almost leave. But Glen opens the door, with Abby lurking behind him in the living room.

“I’m traveling back to Germany next week,” I tell him. “I wanted to say good-bye to both of you.”

Glen’s grin is so wide I can see his toothless gums. “How wonderful, dear! We’re delighted! Come in, come in.”

Abby moves closer to the door. “So nice of you,” she says coolly as she accepts the bouquet. She immediately hurries away to search for a vase and probably to cover up her embarrassment.

“Certainly you’d like a nice cup of tea and some dunking cookies,” Glen says.

“There’s nothing in the world I’d rather have!” I answer.

“She wants a cup of tea and some dunking cookies!” he yells toward the kitchen.

Abby sticks her head out and says with annoyance, “Dunking cookies, Glen Lane? Lea wants a big piece of my angel food cake, and that’s exactly what she’ll get.”

We sit for at least an hour, chatting cozily. A big weight is lifted from my shoulders. Abby tells me about their new tenant, who she found almost immediately after I left—a nice, young interior designer who works for a new hotel in Stock. As I say my good-byes, Abby insists I take half the cake and wraps it up in aluminum foil. She makes me promise that I’ll visit them anytime I come back to Gatingstone.

When I make my farewell visit to the Seafields, I take the opportunity to speak to Linda in private.

“You said something once about Mr. Derby,” I say sheepishly.

“You mean how he’s a chauvinistic asshole?”

“Yes, something like that. Where did you get that from?”

“Everyone at school knows it, unless they’re blind or in love with him, as you apparently were,” Linda says bluntly.

“But how did you know?” I ask.

“He’s always spewing some kind of misogynistic rant. He tells the girls to clean the tables or collect the garbage. What he really means to do is prepare us for his idea of married life. The boys think it’s great, of course, but the girls think it’s disgusting!”

Catherine is the first among my friends to notice that I’ve remained the same old Lea even after spring break. She suspects it’s over between me and Ethan.

“How are you?” she asks sympathetically. “Are you getting over him?”

I smile at her. “Let’s put it this way: I was totally addicted to him. It did me a world of good to uninstall him.”

I change my relationship status on Facebook to “Single,” and barely a second later, Jens clicks “Like” under it. He offers to pick me up the following week in England, so I don’t have to drag my heavy suitcases and my slippery shoulder bag from train to train.

Epilogue

Two years later, Jens and I honeymoon in Cambridge. We stay at a posh hotel in the city, and once again, the weather is simply wonderful. We visit the fantastic collection of ancient Roman sculptures we didn’t have a chance to see before. We spend at least an hour at the local history museum. Then we glide leisurely—and carefully—down the River Cam in a punt. At the café, we giggle at the passersby to our hearts’ content, and in the evening we go to the Evensong at the King’s College Chapel. After some searching, we also find the tiny St. Peter’s Church we visited over two years ago and sit devoutly in a pew, holding hands.

“Would you like to ring the bell?” Jens asks.

I laugh. “That’s no longer necessary. I’m so happy, I can’t think of a thing to wish for.”

“Did your wish that one time actually come true?” he asks.

I think about it for a moment, then beam at him. “Yes, completely and totally. And you?”

He throws an arm around me and pulls me close. “My wish also came true, completely and totally.”

About the Author

Photo © 2011 Michael Methfessel

Elisa Ellen is an East Westphalian. When she’s not writing books, she wanders through the Teutoburg Forest with her husband and dog, reads, gardens, or plays music.

About the Translator

Terry Laster is a musician, singer, former music teacher, and book editor who sang, studied, and translated in Germany for many years. When not translating books or working on her long-overdue historical novel, Terry likes to hike, swim, and jam with her musician friends in Glendale, California, where she currently resides. The mother of four sons, she lives with her youngest child and her tiny Chihuahua.