“I have so much, and without her it all comes to nothing.”
—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther
Friday, August 11, 1893 • Everthorne
Dartmouth Street, Back Bay • Boston, Massachusetts
A week later, when my parents and I had arrived at Everthorne for the dinner party I hadn’t planned to attend, both Vance and Violet were in the grand entrance hall to greet their guests. We made our salutations, and I focused all of my attention on the people surrounding me, searching and hoping to see the Hawthornes. However, I quickly realized that Mr. Hawthorne was nowhere to be seen. As I swept through the hall on my way to the staircase, I resigned myself to the fact that I simply shouldn’t have come. He hadn’t been able to change his plans, and I still didn’t know when I would see him again.
As most of the guests who’d arrived filed into the parlor, I realized I didn’t feel like joining them. I had a lot to think about besides Mr. Cal Hawthorne.
Up to that point, I had tried not to notice the black-and-white checkered marble floors of Everthorne, the beautifully wallpapered walls, the immaculate wooden stairs of the house that was once mine, but it wasn’t easy. And now that I was alone in the impressive great hall, I couldn’t repress the memories any longer.
William had been so proud to purchase the mansion down the street from his father’s Everwood, which was also diagonally across the street from my parents’ mansion, Faircourt. Although it had been horrendously decorated at the time, eventually gutted before the wedding, and now currently redecorated to another’s tastes, the stunning woodwork of the staircase, the paneled halls, and soaring twenty-foot ceilings were all so much the same.
From where I stood at the foot of the stairs, I could envision myself there—or at least, me in my old life. It saddened my heart to think of all that had been ripped from me since those carefree days. I studied the front door and the built-in shelves in the round-shaped alcove near the front of the house. Were those new or were they there before? I couldn’t remember. We hadn’t had the chance to go into the house many times, since it had mostly been in the process of being torn apart in those months before the wedding, but we had gone in enough to both fall in love with the place.
And William had done his best to make me fall in love with him.
He’d been a fervent lover, such a good kisser. And in missing him, I missed the life-together-ness I’d felt while we’d been engaged.
I wanted it all again, and what I felt with Cal Hawthorne was everything and more. I’d never experienced such a connection to anyone before, and it was difficult to explain. It was, as he’d described…wild and undeniable.
Feeling the need to simply look around and remember more about the house that was once mine, I ascended the towering staircase, tracing the elaborate railing to the landing that circled around to form a huge tunnel all the way to the roof, three stories up. At the top, embedded in the roof, was a beautiful leaded stained glass Tiffany window that lit up the entire place with dark shades of white, purple, red, and blue.
The amazing window had been my absolute favorite thing about the house, and it grieved me that I felt the need to mourn even its loss to me. From the second story landing baluster, I studied the intricately detailed leaded glass design of an orange tree with sun and leaves and white calla lily stems twisting and turning through the grass, when I heard footsteps on the stairs.
Mabel and Sylvie were ascending the steps up to me, and when they reached the landing, Mabel leaned over a tad and said lowly, looking straight at me, “This is great fun, isn’t it? Not as much fun as snooping through my brother’s house, but still.”
“Is your brother coming tonight?” I hated how forward the question sounded, but I couldn’t think of any other way to ask.
“He is.”
The unexpected news that he’d changed his plans to be there sent sparks of anticipation through me.
Mabel then looped her arm through mine, and the three of us took a slow stroll down to the corner post of the railing, where we could look down together but still face one another in conversation. “But I wanted to tell you that it’s odd that he did. He wasn’t supposed to, you know. He had told me weeks ago he wasn’t able to come and he’d already declined…but then something changed his mind.”
“Ooh, what do you think that was?” Sylvie asked, laughing.
Mabel took my hand in hers and squeezed. “I am fairly certain his attendance has very much to do with you, Mrs. Everstone, if I may be so bold to say so.”
“Why would you think that?” I asked, trying to keep calm. Truly, I didn’t know how else to answer her. What did she know?
Sylvie laughed. “Why, indeed?”
Mabel motioned toward the front parlor. “Oh, look, there he is now. Late.”
I looked down from the landing and saw her brother at the entrance of the parlor, wearing formal evening attire, of course, and looking marvelous. Blushing at the recollection of everything he and I had spoken of before we’d last parted ways, I backed away from the railing, unsure of what to do.
Mabel was already on her way down the stairs, in all likelihood, to send her brother up to me. Sylvie stayed back.
“I have a feeling you don’t need my lessons anymore, but—”
“No, please. I’d love to hear it,” I said quickly. I needed all the help I could get, for I certainly didn’t know what I was doing.
I peeked beyond the railing. Mr. Hawthorne had noticed his sister descending the stairs, and when he glanced up, he found me watching him from the railing. He immediately excused himself from speaking with Vance and started toward the stairs, and to my surprise, took the steps two at a time.
“Well then,” she said. “The lesson now is: don’t be afraid.”
“That’s not a—”
“That’s all I have,” Sylvie uttered as she skittered off, passing Mr. Hawthorne at the head of the stairs with a quick nod in her determination to rejoin Mabel, and likely, her desire to get out of his way.
Mr. Hawthorne was beside me within a minute, and I prayed he wouldn’t hear the thumping of my anxious heart. I didn’t know how to make it stop. My chest burned at the thought of our last encounter—the trust, the closeness, the ease. It was such a strange place we’d found ourselves in, he and I. Having just met, but also having something between us that made me feel like we’d known each other forever.
He stood before me, his hand at the railing, in plain view of anyone wishing to find him.
I stepped forward, standing next to him at the baluster. “I thought there were unchangeable plans,” I said with a little smile, pleased that the thought of seeing me again had apparently trumped the unchangeable.
“There were.” Mr. Hawthorne moved farther down the hall.
He looked up at the massive spiraling staircase to the third story to get a better view of the rounded Tiffany window. “What an amazing window, or piece of art, rather. It’s one of those stained glass windows by Louis Comfort Tiffany, is it not?”
I followed his lead, sure to stay near the railing where we could be seen. “It is.”
“One gets so much more of its effects up here, compared to below.” Mr. Hawthorne stopped at the foot of the staircase leading up to the third story. He still looked at the immensely tall ceiling as he asked, “Did you know the window was able to create such a prism of color? Is that why you came up here?”
“Yes, I knew. And it’s part of the reason.” I stood next to him, staring up at the gorgeous window. “You see, I missed it. I wanted to see everything again…because Everthorne used to be mine.”
His gaze came down to me. “I wasn’t aware of that.”
“It was called Fairstone at the time, just a few short years ago. We combined the name Fairbanks and Everstone, in much the same way that the name Everthorne was made by combining the names Everstone and Hawthorne.” Suddenly self-conscious, realizing I’d just connected our own last names as well as Vance’s and Vi
olet’s maiden name, I added, “William bought it before we were married, but we never lived here, of course.”
“When was the last time you were here?” he asked.
“Not since before the wedding. Vance bought it from me soon after William passed away. My parents thought it best, since we would be away for so long and it would be one less thing for us to worry about.” I rambled on, but he didn’t seem to mind. As if he understood I just needed to stand next to him and tell him all about the house, getting everything I’d bottled up for so long, at long last, out in the open.
“You were brave to have come.”
I considered telling him that the possibility of seeing him again had been the reason I’d made it through the front door, but I couldn’t seem to get the words out. “As you can tell, Vance didn’t change any of the woodwork. The balconies, staircases, and paneling are all original, of course. All that is exactly as it’s been since the house was built, years ago.”
“It’s impressive.” His gaze followed the massive, carved-wood trim. “I have to admit, our family home in Westborough was one of the most elaborate houses in town, but it was nothing compared to this…and this amazing staircase. It’s more like a piece of art, all on its own. Just like the Tiffany window.” He glanced toward the upper ceiling of the third story, at the window again. “What do you think has changed the most?”
I remained silent for a moment, and then finally answered. “Me. I am what’s been changed the most.”
“How so?” He made sure to look straight into my eyes as he asked.
“This house, it was from a different life, one I’ve been mourning. Not just William, you see, but the life he’d made for me beside him. It was gone before I ever had it. And I haven’t known what to do with myself since. I certainly didn’t want to come here, but I’m glad I did. It’s been good to look at it, to understand that, as much as I’d loved it, God has other things for me now.”
I had a feeling he knew what I meant—that I meant him.
“Of course He does. You’re still young, and you have your whole life ahead of you.” He stared down at me, his dusky blue eyes fixed upon my face.
And I didn’t care that he stared. I wanted him to. I felt like I could just be me again. Finally. I hadn’t realized it until then, but I hadn’t felt free to be myself in years. Even before my engagement to William had been formed. I’d simply been doing as I’d been told.
Quite suddenly, I had the most daring thought that I should, indeed, buy Hilldreth Manor.
I looked up at Mr. Hawthorne from this reverie, and he said, “You’re such a beautiful mix of uncertainty and exquisiteness, and wisdom. I do believe I like you more now than I would have if I’d had my chance all those years ago.”
When the flutters in my stomach settled, I was able to respond calmly. “It’s likely very true. I probably wouldn’t have given you a second thought, no matter what you looked like.” My cheeks burned at my blunder. “Not that it matters what you look like, but you are, you are….”
He only smiled at my clumsily uttered half-admission, staring down at me with those beautiful blue eyes. He quipped a smile and full-out laughed at me. As only he could, it seemed. “What are you trying to say?”
“You aren’t terrible to look at, you know.” I strolled past him, trying my best to seem nonchalant. Because, of course he knew this. He had to.
“Nicholette,” he whispered, following me down the hall. He’d said my name before, of course, but never in the way he did now. To me. For me, only.
And I didn’t know what to say, for he hadn’t exactly said anything. Just my name.
I stopped walking away, turned to face him.
He merely stood before me, admiring me. He didn’t seem to want to say anything specifically, and I had a feeling he was waiting to see if I’d say anything else interesting, so I said, “How about you say something now…Cal?”
He crooked a little grin that I could just barely see, given the dim light from the corner of the landing where we now stood. He obviously took delight in the fact that I’d said his name. “Looking at you isn’t difficult either, Nicholette, as I’m sure you are well aware.”
I couldn’t help but provide a little smile. Had anyone before been able to create such happiness in me with only words?
Cal—for I certainly couldn’t think of him as formal sounding “Mr. Hawthorne” now— guided me toward the stairs. “It’s short for O’Callaghan, if you must know.”
“O’Callaghan?” I sighed, relishing the sound of his true name escaping my lips for the first time. “Is that a family name?”
He lifted his shoulders with a shrug. “Yes, a great-great-grandmother’s maiden name…and it’s not even the beginning of the atrociousness of my full name. A simple nickname from my middle name, that’s how I came to be Cal.” He chuckled, and the rich deepness of his voice making such a merry sound made something in my chest feel tight and free all at once. “What’s your middle name?” he asked.
“Nicholette is my middle name,” I admitted. “And I’ll tell you my first name when you tell me yours.”
“Well then, you have a deal.” But he didn’t go on.
“And what is it?” I asked, fully expecting him to tell me then and there.
“You’ll have to be patient and wait for it.” He tapped my nose with his finger.
Thinking nothing more of his playful game of harmless secrets—which I knew I would eventually find out someday—I asked, “Have you inquired about a meeting with Dr. Wellesley yet?”
“I brought it up to Vance, for he knows Dr. Wellesley quite well, and I thought, perhaps having him and Violet present at the meeting would help. They’ve both been leaning toward doing something more, as well.”
“So, you’re saying the meeting will be soon?”
“Not necessarily. Dr. Wellesley is currently at a convention in New York, and I still think it’s best to not involve myself until Ezra has been arrested. But it shouldn’t be long now.”
“Oh, I see.”
“I know you’re disappointed, but it will happen. Things are just a little too complicated at the moment to allow for anything to go wrong. If he found out my loyalties were to helping the kinds of young women he targets, it could ruin everything.”
“It does makes sense,” I admitted.
Cal took a step away from me and hurriedly took his pocket watch out to check the time. I could tell the engraved gold was of the best quality to be had. Just as I leaned forward to better read the elegantly scripted engraving on the inside of the lid, he shut it with a quick snap.
“So,” I said cheerily, hoping to change the subject, “should I call you O’Callaghan now, or simply Cal?”
“Oh, please use the name Cal.” He leaned just close enough to hover at my ear. “And I will always call you Nicholette, no matter what your first name is. It suits you.”
Just then, the grandmother clock in the hall began to chime the hour.
“Well, we should probably go down,” I said as I draped my hand over his arm.
He rested a hand over mine.
Hanging on his arm as we walked down the impressive dark-paneled hall and elaborately carved staircase seemed to stave off the memories I’d struggled with earlier as I’d walked through Everthorne on my own. But as I was quickly learning, whenever I was with Cal Hawthorne, I was much more focused on the future than on the past.
For two long, prayerful years, all I’d done was think about the past.
And I wanted to be finished.
The call to dinner was announced below, and we continued to slowly make our way down the stairs together, Cal escorting me by the arm. As we came to the entrance of the parlor where the rest of the party had gathered, Alex Summercourt immediately came over and stole me away, as I knew he would since he was supposed to lead me into dinner. Once we were all gathered in the dining room, I ended up seated at the center of the table, with Alex to my right and Cal to my left.
After m
uch dialogue regarding Vance and Violet’s recent trip to Everston in Maine to see his sister Estella, her husband Dexter, and their new baby, Alex turned to me, quite pointedly, and said, “I know I’ve told you this already, but I simply have to say, you look absolutely fabulous tonight…as usual, of course.”
It was amazing how the same comment said by both Alex and Cal, in almost the same manner, could make me feel so differently. “Thank you, Alex. It is something to get used to, not having to wear the grays and lavenders.”
“Though no one could dispute that you looked just as lovely in those muted tones.” Cal spoke the words to me under his breath as I faced Alex, and I could not, in good form, turn away.
Alex cleared his throat. “The shade of green you’re wearing tonight suits you well.”
I could tell his eyes weren’t exactly focused on my dress, but at the lack thereof near my shoulders and neckline.
He continued, barely lifting his eyes. “I hated to hear that you’d left the country…and that it would be for such long time.”
“As did I,” Cal again added from my other side.
I desperately wanted to speak with him, but I had the feeling Alex was completely unaware of his breathy contributions to our conversation.
“I suppose it was good for you to get away, wasn’t it?” Alex asked. “But you know, now that you’re back, it’s almost as if you hadn’t left.”
“I wouldn’t go so far to say that…” Cal added quietly.
“Mr. Summercourt, you were living in New York City until recently, were you not?” I couldn’t help but respond to his absurd remarks. I was beginning to completely agree with Sylvie’s view of him—he was most definitely a snob who thought mainly of himself. “I’m sure that is the reason you feel nothing has changed. But all things have. Most drastically, in fact.”
“But of course some things are different now,” he said with a devilish grin, finally meeting my eyes. “You’re free to marry whomever you wish now.”
“Are you implying that I didn’t want to marry before?” I asked, my voice low, not caring that it was rude of me to ask. It had been rude of him to bring it up in the first place.
Enchanting Nicholette Page 12
