P.S. I Love You

by Jo Noelle

  Simon momentarily covered her hand that rested on her lap with his own. Not a word was spoken, but their smiles matched each other’s before they began watching the fishing scene again.

  “Would you show me other things you could say to your mother?” He didn’t shift his eyes away from the children nearest them, afraid she would sense his vulnerability. After a long pause, when he looked at her, she smiled hugely at him. For some reason, his request seemed to please her.

  “What would you like to know how to say?”

  “I don’t know. I just find it fascinating that your mother spoke that way with you.”

  “And my father. She spoke with both of us. It’s just the way it’s done where I’m from. Since my father and I could hear, we spoke the words and signed them as well, so we were all included when we were in public, but in private we just signed. There were few secrets in our home.”

  “Everything? You could sign everything?” He’d thought there might be a bank of important words that they had shared. It opened his mind to consider full conversations. What would it be like to drop the language barriers that held people back?

  While he lived in Scotland, he’d learned about a school in Edinburgh that taught children to talk with their hands. Before he left, he’d toured the private facility but didn’t gain anything substantial that could help. He noticed that some children spelled out words with their hands or they lip read as he did.

  He missed so much of what went on around him, and yet he felt extremely blessed to have retained some hearing. Many hadn’t as a result of wounds, illness, and injuries in addition to those who were born without hearing. The people in the community who were deaf were left on the margins of society, especially those of lesser means. He imagined the good that could come of this language Cora knew.

  Cora nodded in reply to his question. “Anything you can say, you can sign.” Her hands moved up and down in front of her, and she said, “Children.”

  Then she pantomimed what looked to Simon like her holding a fishing pole, and he guessed, “Fishing.”

  “Yes,” she said as she nodded her fist in front of her.

  “I see what you mean by the movements also having extra meaning,” he said.

  Then her open hand fanned upward twice on her chest. “Happy.”

  Simon opened his palm as she had done and repeated the gesture. “Me too.”

  A wave of water, too much to have been an accident, flung across the front of them both. Two boys near them had waded into a knee-deep pool and were scooping their hands across the top of the water, firing the waves in every direction in their glee. Simon slipped from the bridge and joined in the fun.

  Although he could move a great deal more water with each scoop, there were many more children all intent on dousing him as their only target. The cool water was refreshing on what was turning into a hot day. The battle continued for several minutes.

  After the children ran out of the stream in retreat, Simon looked for Cora. She sat near the shore with the children’s strings of fish at her feet. “Are you quite done, Your Grace?” she called.

  “I suppose since the enemy has disengaged.”

  Aunt Nellie wrapped the children in blankets and began passing out sandwiches. Simon, huddled in a blanket as well, sat next to Cora to eat a bite, too. Curiosity niggled at him until he asked, “How did your parents meet? Their difference seems like something that could keep them apart.”

  “It might have only my father didn’t know it. They were in a math class in college.” Simon realized that his eyebrows had risen at the idea of a woman in a college class with a man, but Cora continued. “He saw a beautiful though quiet and very studious woman. He said he knew at once he had to meet her, so he wrote a note and asked the students between them to pass it to her.”

  Cora stopped as if that was all there was to their story, but Simon nudged her for more. “And … ?”

  “And she read it. Then she wrote a reply saying that he could continue to send her notes in class, and she would let him know if she was interested in meeting him face-to-face. My father wrote more notes to my mother than he did about the math lectures for the next two weeks, and she agreed to meet with him after class. He caught up to her just outside the classroom door, and she handed him another note. It said simply, ‘I’m Deaf. I can read your lips and read your notes, but unless you can sign, we might not be able to get to know each other.’ My father took that as a personal challenge. He dropped a class, added a sign language class, and continued to write notes to my mother as they began to court.”

  Perhaps Cora hadn’t made the connection that Simon had—that their courtship was enhanced by writing to each other as well—but it made him feel a kinship to Cora’s parents.

  “And if they hadn’t any paper, they would write messages on each other’s hands,” Cora said.

  Simon held his hand, palm up in front of Cora. “How did that work?” he asked, unable to keep the mischief from his voice.

  Cora’s answering smile told him that she was willing to play along with his request for a demonstration. Her small hand cradled his as one slender finger moved across his open hand. A tickling sensation followed her fingertip, and reverberated through Simon’s arm and chest. Although her head bent slightly to watch as she wrote, occasionally she glanced up, and the sight took Simon’s breath away. He wanted to fold her in his arms and stare into her eyes. His body ached with the restraint he felt at continuing to hold himself away from her. The only way he could think to sate the desire was to kiss her. He looked into her eyes again and down to the smile on her lips. He stopped himself from leaning toward her. Not here—the children. What he wouldn’t give to be alone with her right then.

  That’s when he noticed that her finger had stopped moving, and she asked, “What did I write?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he answered honestly. His mind had been utterly otherwise engaged. “You’d best try again.”

  She softly chuckled and said, “And you’d best concentrate.”

  “I was. Just not on the letters.”

  Aunt Nellie called out that they were heading back to the house. Simon extended his arm to Cora and escorted her back to Twickenham Manor.

  Chapter 18

  Cora

  Although a few houseguests still remained at Twickenham Manor, the party had ended for Cora five days ago when Simon left. The guests who would continue on to Simon’s home for the hunting party remained, as well as Wetheridge, unfortunately. Cora noticed that he seemed to be wherever she was, standing only a few feet away. He was quick to offer his arm as an escort. For the past few days, he had been polite, sedate, attentive, and reserved—entirely annoying.

  In a lapse of judgment that only lasted two seconds, Cora wished Simon’s sisters were still there to keep him occupied, but then Lady Atkins would be also. Wetheridge was the lesser of two evils—maybe. Lady Atkins would never seek out her company—so no worries there.

  Cora was hiding in the gardens, having evaded him after breakfast. She might have to take a tray in her room for her meals for the next two days to avoid him completely. She was tired of being polite. No, I don’t wish to take a ride with you. No, I don’t want to walk with you in the gardens. No, you cannot be of assistance to me today on a shopping errand. No, no, no. Sheesh.

  On the bright side, Cora had spent many hours in the little music room on the second floor where she and Simon had held their latest concert. It was a little bit of a workout for her foot to pump the bellows, but the tiny organ was a rare treat to play. The melodeon’s sound was somewhere between a harmonica and a bagpipe. Cora found it especially suited to country tunes. Her memory played a song in her mind, and she imagined the music around her, swaying to the beat as she walked.

  Something dark moved to her right. Cora sucked in a quick breath as a man stepped out from a side trail between two bushes. To her relief, it was Everett.

  “Sorry to startle you,” he said.

  �
�I thought you were someone else.” Cora sat on a nearby garden bench and let out a sigh.

  “Wetheridge was conscripted by Aunt Nellie to drive into Mayfair and pick up some tea cakes at Gunter’s for breakfast tomorrow. You’re safe at least until supper.” The easy smile Everett always seemed to have melted into a serious expression. “Actually, there is something I wanted to talk with you about.”

  Their last “serious conversation” sprang to Cora’s memory. He had warned her not to break Simon’s heart. “You don’t need to worry. I’m not playing with Simon’s heart. I’ve given up the marriage game completely. I truly enjoy his company. You’re a great friend to worry for him, but you needn’t as far as I’m concerned.”

  Everett’s smile returned. “Well, that’s not what I wanted to talk with you about, but it’s nice to know. Rather personal, really. You didn’t need to defend your feelings to me.”

  “Oh.” Cora could feel her cheeks warm. She smirked in Everett’s direction. As if he never involved himself in personal matters. But instead of pursuing it, she changed the subject and asked, “What is it, then?”

  Beginning to pace away from her, then suddenly turning back and pacing some more, Everett stopped and blurted, “I’m going to propose to Lucy.” Then the pacing resumed, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

  “Congratulations?” Cora wondered what the matter was. They seemed an ideal couple to her. She sat facing him with her arms folded in her lap until he came to a stop before her.

  “I don’t know how. I mean, I know the words, but I want this to be special. It has to be right. Lucy has waited so long, and I want her to be sure of my. . .attachment to her.” Everett’s eyes slid toward Cora and quickly away.

  “You love her.” Why was that so hard to admit? They used the euphemism “attached,” but it could mean any number of things.

  “Yes.”

  “Make sure you say that part. Those three little words.”

  Everett’s head jerked a nod. “Right. Capital. What else?”

  He looked at her with need and desperation. The man was falling apart.

  Cora rose from the bench. “Sit down and take a breath.” She thought it went without saying but perhaps not. “There’s the part about ‘Will you marry me?’”

  “All right. This is good. I say, ‘I love you. Will you marry me?’ That’s it, then.” He stood, and Cora knew he was going to leave.

  “Wait. The best part comes between those two sentences.” Cora sat and pulled him back down beside her. “Why are you marrying her? Of all the women you know, why her?”

  The stress fell away from Everett’s shoulders. “Lucy is beautiful and kind. The sort of woman who is equally comfortable with a crowd or just the two of us.” He looked out toward the hedge, but Cora was sure he was seeing Lucy in his mind instead. “You may not know that she has a quiet sense of humor. Just a quick comment. Sometimes I’m not sure I heard it, but her lips quirk a bit, and I know I did. And she’s accepting. She treats people with fairness and respect. She’s a better person than I could have ever hoped to live my life with.”

  Cora was truly happy for her dear friend—for both of them. Her eyes were a little cloudy, and emotion lodged in her throat at the sincere admiration in Everett’s confession.

  He stiffened and pinned Cora with a look. “What if she says no?” The look of desperation crept back onto his face.

  “Everything you just told me goes between the first two sentences. You’ve got this. Talk to her father. Talk to her. Flowers don’t hurt. Tell me the good news when you’re done.”

  Everett stood and tugged at his sleeves. “I will.” With a nod, he walked off.

  Chapter 19

  Simon

  Simon gazed out the window toward the ruins of the old Roman wall without seeing it but knowing that Cora’s carriage appearing around that corner would be his first sighting of her arrival. In fact, he’d sat at his desk staring out the window toward the front drive for most of the day, waiting for a carriage that would bring her to Leavensfield Court. Anticipation thrummed through his veins. It had been a week and a day since he’d held her at the ball, seven days since they’d sat together on the bridge, a day since he’d written a letter to her, and not even a minute since he’d last thought of her.

  He worried if he’d made a mistake, arranging the hunt in haste. He would have hunted whether or not he had guests. They would simply make it more enjoyable. This house party wasn’t designed as a social event. The guests were a small list, and attention hadn’t been given for equal numbers. He had arranged meals and the hunts but left the remaining time for the guests to entertain themselves.

  Before noon, the red-and-black box of Aunt Nellie’s carriage waddled around the wall and continued up his road behind four horses. He stood in the foyer to greet his guests. Seconds ticked by like minutes. How long could it take for the short drive? Just as he decided to return to the window to check on their progress, the door opened.

  Simon stood frozen in place as he watched Cora cross the threshold. She wasn’t just coming to his home. It was as if she were coming home. His chest filled with air that seemed to glow with light, pushing warmth throughout his body. At that moment, Simon didn’t care where she was born. He didn’t care what society thought his responsibility toward marriage might be. He didn’t consider his family’s opinion on the matter, either. No. All he knew was that she was here at his request. Profound appreciation and desire filled him.

  Cora smiled at him from across the foyer, her eyes twinkling as stray curly blonde locks that had escaped her traveling hat floated around her face. He was lost.

  Behind him, his mother cleared her throat. “Invite our guests into the green salon, please.” Simon opened his mouth to make an introduction, but his mother waved him off and then continued with her gaze fixed on Cora. “You needn’t bother with an introduction. We’ve met, and I doubt her manners have improved.” Then her attention swung to her son. “She’s American, after all.”

  With an exaggerated sniff, his mother briskly turned to the salon, and Simon faced Cora to apologize. He’d deal with his mother later.

  To his surprise, Cora had a growing smirk on her lips. “I’m trying not to smile, but the most I’m accomplishing is not to laugh. Apparently, our last meeting was memorable for your mother.”

  Before he could ask about it, more guests entered the house. He greeted each and directed them to the salon. While Simon spoke with Everett’s mother, May took Cora by the arm, and off they went.

  The group gathering in the salon was generally lively though it had been a two-day trip from Twickenham to St. Albans, sleeping over in Edgware. After a spot of tea, Simon’s mother announced they would be shown to their rooms to freshen themselves for an early dinner. Of course she started in order of precedence, leaving Cora to be settled last. For once, Simon appreciated his mother’s strict formality.

  “I arranged for you to be assigned to the rose room,” Simon whispered. “It overlooks the formal gardens above the roses. On the wall is a landscape painting of one of my favorite places on the estate. I’m interested in hearing your interpretation of the picture. Perhaps your insight on whether or not I should have it reframed as well.”

  He didn’t notice Cora taking any extra meaning from his statement when she said, “I would like to compare the painting to the location that inspired it. If we have time for such an outing, that is.”

  “I’d be pleased to escort you.” He leaned closer and whispered, “There is a letter behind it for you.”

  At that, her eyes brightened, and she graced him with a coquettish grin.

  Too soon, his mother sent Cora off with a servant. Before he could leave the room, his mother stepped in front of him. “Have you the inclination to embarrass yourself and this family? You must disentangle yourself before we are an on-dit in every drawing room in London.”

  “I’m not entangled nor engaged, Mother.”

  “Of course not, given the guest
list. And the one person trying to get her claws into you is unfit to be your duchess.” When Simon opened his mouth to retort to her accusation, she shushed him, saying, “I have it on good authority, so you’d best not try to deny the time you have spent with that American.”

  Simon considered the coze his mother had seemed to have with Lady Radnor during tea. Neither woman was generous toward him, and he expected that Lady Radnor threw the shadiest light on every situation that came to her memory concerning Simon and Cora. He was happy for Everett that Lucy was nothing like her mother.

  “I hardly need to remind you that I’m a man and not a boy. Your advice on my personal life is unwelcome.”

  She shook her head slowly, and for a moment, Simon hoped that she finally understood his position as head of the family. When her chin rose, he saw the familiar, dismissive pity in her eyes. “You were never raised to be a duke, and you’re making a muddle of it. It’s evident you need guidance.” She turned and walked to the door.

  “I won’t tolerate your judgment or opinion about the company I keep.” Simon kept his tongue about the other matter she raised. He often wondered if he was unfit to be duke. The back of his mind whispered, “yes.” It was no matter since he was and he had to make the best of it. Still, the blow from his mother ached.

  “You’re too kind by half to that little misfit. If you don’t know how to free yourself, I’ll put my mind to it.”

  “I won’t hear of it, Mother.”

  “No, you probably won’t.” With those words hanging in the room, she left.

  Simon wondered what she meant by them. He imagined that she was condescending toward him due to his lack of hearing. But it could also be that she had never involved herself much in his life, and besides some pointed advice, he doubted she would act differently now. Still, he would be glad when his sisters returned home and took her attention away from him.