Always

by Amy Richie

  I didn’t bother looking back out the window. “Who are you?” I hissed. “And what are you doing in here? And how did you get in here?”

  “Marcus Letrell. Saving you. And through the door.” He gestured vaguely behind him to where my door was still closed.

  “That door was locked.”

  “It wasn’t locked.”

  “I locked it myself.”

  “Must not have latched it.” He crinkled his mouth into a mock frown.

  “I…” I clamped my lips shut, reconsidering arguing the least important thing. “Why are you here? Why did you come into my room?”

  “I told you already; to save you.”

  “To save me from what?”

  “From the man outside your window.”

  My heart stuttered at his words. I chanced a quick peek outside but no one was there. “That man was you.”

  “No,” he shook his head, his hair bouncing off his forehead. “That wasn’t me. He’s been watching you for a few days now.”

  “He has?” My voice dropped low in my shock.

  “Don’t worry, I scared him away.” He grinned crookedly. I couldn’t be sure if he was being serious and I still couldn’t understand why Marcus had decided to come into my room.

  “You should have alerted my uncle,” I scolded.

  His eyes narrowed. “That would have been measurably less enjoyable.” His eyes skidded down the length of my nightclothes. “Besides, why put your uncle in any danger?”

  My face grew too warm under his eyes and I suddenly was aware of how little I had on. I was reaching for my robe but his words stopped me. “Danger? Do you suppose he intends to do me harm?”

  “I think it is safe to suppose, Miss Sinclair, that if a strange man is watching a young woman through her window his intentions are far from proper. Otherwise, he would have spoken with your uncle.”

  “And yet here you stand.”

  “I already told you, I’m here to save you,” he reminded me with an exquisite arch of his brow.

  “It is clear that the only danger now is to my reputation should anyone see you in here. Now go before I call Uncle Philip.”

  “Yes, we wouldn’t want to damage your reputation. Not with you all set to marry Edmund Harris in three days.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Hamel is a small area Miss Sinclair. It doesn’t take someone long to discover all its secrets.”

  I worked my face into a scowl, which only made Marcus laugh. “That…isn’t…”

  “Oh, come now Miss Sinclair…may I call you Miss Sinclair?”

  “No,” I snapped. “We haven’t been properly introduced. You may not call me anything.”

  “And quite right you are Miss…er...uhm…,” he fumbled around dramatically, “at any rate, you will make a fine wife of society.”

  “What a thing to say!”

  “I meant no disrespect to your beloved Miss…” He snapped his lips shut on a grin when I glared up at him.

  “You should leave now.”

  “Once again you are quite right. It’s just…” he sighed softly and let his eyes drift lazily down to my bare feet, “I’m having such a good time rescuing you.”

  “Get out!” My ears burned with the depth of my embarrassment.

  His eyes widened with his smile. “All you had to do was ask.” He back stepped towards the door. “The rose was a nice touch, huh?” he asked casually.

  I looked down to where I had dropped the flower earlier. A knot formed in my stomach at the thought of someone watching me. “You don’t think he’ll be back, do you?”

  “Probably not tonight; but don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on things.” He winked at me and disappeared though the door.

  As soon as the door closed behind him I pressed my ear against the heavy wood. There were no sounds of his leaving. Was he still there, standing just outside my door? The thought made my heart accelerate.

  Who was this strange man who just came into women’s bedrooms? Who had ever heard of such a thing? Footsteps in the hall sent me scurrying to the other side of the room.

  “Miss Claudia?” Becky, the upstairs maid, stuck her head in my door. “Are you alright, Miss? I thought I heard voices,” she said groggily.

  “I just had a bad dream Becky,” I told her. “Go back to bed.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need anything, Miss?”

  “I’m fine,” I lied.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t drink milk, Miss.”

  “What?”

  “Cook says that milk before bed is sure to give you bad dreams.”

  “Thank you Becky, goodnight.”

  I listened to the familiar soft squeaks of the old stairs as Becky returned to her own room. Bad dreams? Maybe it had just been a bad dream.

  I bent low to the ground and retrieved the rose. I held it away from me, watching the moon light make strange shapes on the petals.

  I flung the flower away from me and turned back to the window for one last look out into the dark night. With a shiver, I pulled it closed and locked it up tight, then I slipped back into bed.

  * * * * *

  By morning I had convinced myself that Marcus Letrell’s late night visit had indeed been nothing but a bad dream. I even chuckled at my own foolishness as Becky brushed my hair into a long pleat.

  Where had I come up with a name like Marcus Letrell? I was sure that I had never heard the name before. No, I was certain that Marcus Letrell didn’t even exist.

  “What’s so funny, Miss?” Becky asked with a smile.

  “I was just thinking of my dream last night. It seemed so real.”

  “It was the milk,” she declared with a nod.

  “Maybe you’re right.” I stood up and straightened my all white gown. As was the custom in Hamel a soon to be bride wore only white the entire week before her wedding. I missed my colorful gowns sent straight from London.

  “Will you go down to breakfast now, Miss?”

  “Yes. Aunt and Uncle are probably waiting for me.”

  I chuckled again as I glided down the squeaky steps. I was halfway to the dining room when I heard voices.

  Was someone here? Who would come calling at such an early hour? Maybe it’s Edmund, I thought with a lump in my throat. What could he possibly want?

  I entered the room with my head held high, determined to not let him see my unease. It wasn’t Edmund Harris’ face that I encountered, though. My jaw swung open in shock.

  “Ah Claudia,” Uncle Philip exclaimed, “come meet our new neighbors.”

  Neighbors? It couldn’t be! A familiar pair of dark blue eyes grinned down at me. There, standing in our dining room, was none other than the man from my dream– Marcus Letrell.

  Chapter Three

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but instead sent myself into a coughing fit. Aunt Dora fluttered around trying to force water down my throat, which only managed to fall down my chin and onto the front of my dress. Uncle Philip stood awkwardly wringing his weathered hands.

  As I choked and sputtered, Marcus just stood there with that grin plastered on his face.

  “My goodness, dear,” Aunt Dora cooed, “are you alright?”

  “I’m… fine,” I gasped when I could finally talk again.

  “Mr. Letrell,” Uncle Philip reached for me, “may I present my niece Claudia Sinclair.”

  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Sinclair,” Marcus purred.

  “And this is his cousin David Conner, and David’s wife Sylvia.” Uncle Philip introduced a lovely couple that I had barely even noticed before.

  I went through the mandatory motions of meeting the Conner’s, but I could hardly tear my eyes from Marcus. “How do you do?” I murmured politely.

  “We do just fine,” Mrs. Conner’s heavy French accent caught my attention. “Marcus told us the most beautiful woman in the world lived here, but I thought surely he must have exaggerated. Now I see he was not mistaken.”

 
I chanced a quick look at Marcus, who didn’t bother with a blush, but my face flamed red. I couldn’t believe he could say something like that when he saw Sylvia Conner on a daily basis. She was beautiful with her deep brown hair and ice blue eyes. I had never seen anyone so lovely.

  “Not only is that grossly exaggerated, it is also highly inappropriate,” I responded.

  “Have you already met Claudia?” Aunt Dora inquired.

  “In fact, I was speaking of you, Mrs. Sinclair,” Marcus smiled unabashedly at Aunt Dora–who laughed and blushed as if she were a young girl.

  “Oh, Mr. Letrell,” she waved her hand in his direction.

  “Miss Sinclair, you are quite lovely as well, though,” he teased.

  I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling. This situation was not funny: far from funny.

  “We’ll have tea in the front parlor,” Aunt Dora suggested.

  “Oh no, it’s far too early for tea,” Marcus declined the offer. “I’ll leave you to your meal. Perhaps we’ll stop by later for a proper visit.”

  “Yes. Be sure to stop by any time.” Aunt Dora and Uncle Philip both saw the trio to the front door while I stood rooted to the spot.

  He was our neighbor? When had that happened? He hadn’t said anything about living anywhere in this area last night. Had last night really happened then? And if Marcus Letrell was real, did that mean the man with the red eyes had been real, too? Who was he?

  My heart sped up at the thought of the stranger outside my bedroom window. With a catch in my breath, I remembered the red rose that had been placed on my windowsill.

  Breakfast forgotten, I quickly retraced my steps back to my room. There was one sure way to know if last night was real or not–the rose.

  I shut the door firmly behind me and went straight to the window. It was still latched from the night before. I unlatched it and pushed it open. There was nothing to indicate that anyone had been up in my window.

  I realized how insane that was to even think like that, but the rose had been there. I was sure of it. I searched around the ledge, but I found no flower.

  My shoulders slumped in disappointment. Had it all been my imagination? Why would I have dreamed of Marcus Letrell? I had never even met the man before this morning.

  I sank heavily onto the edge of my bed and let myself fall to the floor. Maybe I should tell Marcus about my dream. I quickly discarded that idea. He would think I was insane.

  “Claudia!” I heard Aunt Dora call from downstairs.

  My face crinkled with irritation. If only I had found that rose. As I put my hand on the floor to push myself up, I felt something prick my palm. With a gasp, I looked down to see my assailant.

  There, just peeking from under my bed, was a green stem. I eagerly pulled out the red rose and smiled wide. I knew it!

  “Claudia!” Aunt Dora called again.

  I scrambled up on my feet and almost went out the door with the rose still in my hand. I shoved it awkwardly behind my vanity dresser and ran out the door. “Coming,” I called as I descended.

  I was breathless when I made it back to the long table where Aunt Dora was still eating. “There you are,” she exclaimed happily.

  “Where is Uncle Philip?” I sat down next to her in one of the high back wooden chairs.

  “He’s been called to Edmund Harris’ place,” she reminded me.

  “Oh yes, for the hunt.” I couldn’t understand men’s fascination with killing other creatures. It seemed a barbaric sport to me.

  “Your uncle enjoys hunting.” She sipped at her coffee.

  “And the company,” I smiled.

  “That too.” She set her cup down and leaned back. “What do you make of our new neighbors?”

  I gulped too quickly at my coffee, burning my tongue in the process. “They seem nice enough,” I replied quickly, determined to not let her see my discomfort at every mention of Marcus Letrell.

  “Mrs. Conner sure is a beauty.”

  “That she is.” We both fell silent as I carefully nibbled on a corner of my toast. I didn’t want Aunt Dora to guess that my tongue was aching.

  “It will be nice for you to have friends your own age.”

  “Why? I’ll be leaving in just a few days.”

  I heard her soft sigh and instantly regretted my hasty words. “Being married will be better than you anticipate,” she promised.

  I sniffed quietly. “I hope that we can be happy–like you and Uncle Philip.”

  “Being poor though,” she stopped talking and made a show of clearing her breakfast dishes.

  What was wrong with being poor? I wanted to question her, but instead I took a hesitant sip of my now cooled coffee.

  “Shall we go to the parlor and practice your needle point?” she asked with a wiggle to her aged eyebrows.

  “Ugh!” I groaned aloud.

  I carefully pushed the needle through the pale fabric. I had never enjoyed needlepoint and as a result, was never very good at it. Aunt Dora said that all young ladies should have some sort of hobby to fill their long days. I longed to take up watercolors, but Aunt Dora had insisted on needlepoint.

  The needle jabbed through easier than I expected and pricked my finger. A tiny drop of red blood appeared. I wiped it away very unladylike onto the side of my dress. “Ugh,” I grumbled when it didn’t stop bleeding right away. I put my injured finger into my mouth, but the taste of the blood made my stomach turn.

  I pushed the fabric off my lap with a scowl. It only stayed on the floor for a brief moment before I was bending to pick it up. With a heavy sigh, I began to rethread my needle with a dark red color.

  When the pattern was finished, it would be three red roses. When I had told Aunt Dora that the rose would represent my mother, my father, and me, she had wiped the tears from her eyes with a white lacy handkerchief.

  I was determined to make the pattern beautiful, so I had painstakingly stitched and restitched the roses. When the thread got all twisted up–again–I wasn’t able to hold back my growl of frustration. I would never be able to make three roses–maybe I should just do one.

  With another determined sigh, I quickly undid the few stitches I had managed to do that morning and began again. I was a few lines in when I heard footsteps outside the door. Who could that be? I looked to Aunt Dora, but she only shrugged.

  Becky stuck her head inside the door. “Mr. Letrell and the Conners are here to call, ma’am,” she announced.

  “Send them right in,” she called gleefully.

  The trio stepped into the room before I had time to hide my needlework. “Good morning,” I greeted hastily.

  “Miss Sinclair,” Marcus greeted only me, “how nice to see you again.” He situated himself gracefully across from me.

  After Becky served the tea, I fidgeted awkwardly for something to say. My heart hammered uncomfortably in my chest.

  “So, um…have you just moved here, Mr. Letrell?” I asked with a small smile. I raised my cup to my mouth and sipped the hot liquid.

  “Yes indeed. We just moved into the Larson Cottage.” He met my eyes easily.

  “That’s a lovely home,” Aunt Dora offered happily.

  “Sylvia has made some minor improvements and we’ve settled nicely.”

  “What sort of improvements?” Aunt Dora directed her question to Mrs. Conner.

  “We redecorated the parlor and a few other rooms,” she replied with a chuckle. “Miss Sinclair, I do hope we’ll be friends and you’ll come often to visit.”

  “I…um…,” I fidgeted nervously. I couldn’t understand why I was reluctant to tell her that I would be married in a few days and then we’d be off to London. I didn’t want to admit that it was probably because of the way that Marcus was watching me.

  Aunt Dora took the burden of telling from me, though. “Claudia is getting married in a few days,” she gushed, oblivious to my discomfort.

  “Oh, yes, we have heard all about Miss Sinclair’s upcoming wedding,” Sylvia assured us. />
  “You have?”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “I must say, it seems like it will be a lovely match.”

  “Edmund Harris is a very wealthy man.” My face flushed red at Aunt Dora’s words.

  “So we have heard.” Sylvia turned to discreetly wink my way. I smiled gratefully.

  “How are you finding Hamel, Mrs. Conner?” I asked, eager to change the topic.

  “It is smaller than I am used to, but it has a certain charm to it.” She angled her body towards me. “Tell me, Miss Sinclair, have you been to London?”

  “No. I haven’t been anywhere except here.”

  Her face fell slightly, but then she smiled again. “You are going to love it!”

  “I don’t know about that, Sylvia,” Marcus contradicted, “I think Miss Sinclair will find London noisy and too crowded for her taste.”

  I was shocked at the intimacy of his assumption. “I am sure London will be just fine for my tastes.”

  “You will miss Hamel.”

  “Undoubtedly!”

  “She’ll come back to visit,” Aunt Dora patted my hand affectionately. I smiled at her.

  “Miss Sinclair,” Sylvia began sweetly, “I noticed a lovely path out back. Would you care to take a walk?”

  I looked at Aunt Dora expectantly. I knew which path she was talking about. I had walked many times along that path myself.

  “Would that be alright, Aunt Dora?”

  “Yes. That sounds just lovely. The fresh air will do you good. I always say that the young people need fresh air,” she smiled widely and nodded briskly, making her almost grey curls flop forward.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Marcus replied heartily.

  I couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or poking fun at Aunt Dora, but when I looked over at him, he smiled gently.

  “Well then, it’s agreed. You shall walk with your new friends.” Aunt Dora patted my hands again.

  “Excellent!” Marcus jumped up to offer me his arm while Sylvia and David rose more slowly to follow.

  “Now, don’t stay out too long,” Aunt Dora warned. “It is starting to get chilly already. Winter will be here before we know it.”