by Bess McBride
Mattie smiled. “Hmmm. Well, I know she has thought of marrying William, but she didn’t sound too enthusiastic about it either. She seems to be just kind of accepting of the idea. Maybe she’s not in love with him.” Over his shoulder, Mattie saw Jane check the watch pinned to her dress.
“I think Jane is telling me we have to go,” Mattie said. “I appreciate your offer of help, Stephen, but I think the only thing I can do is stick it out for the next three weeks until I leave.” She held up a hand to his inquiring face. “Don’t ask! But in the meantime, you and I could figure out how Louisa feels about you, and if she’d be willing to go with you. This isn’t about separating her from William, because I don’t think she’s that invested in a future with him.” Jane moved toward the front of the garden.
“I’d better go, Stephen. Wait for a few minutes before you follow me into the house.”
Stephen took her hand and bent over it. “Remember, I am always at your service. You have left me with more questions than answers about your origins, Miss Crockwell, but we Americans have always been a mysterious, independent sort, have we not? Good day.”
Mattie followed Jane back to the house through the kitchen, with a wave to Mrs. White on the way. Jane headed off to her duties, and Mattie had just reached the stairs in the foyer with a plan to sprint up the stairs to her room when the front door opened. She turned around expecting to see Stephen, but it was William who entered. He handed his hat and coat to John and raised his eyes to see her. Mattie froze under his gaze, suddenly warm. His face brightened into a loving smile.
“Miss Crockwell, I am so glad to see you are still here.”
****
At the sight of Mattie, the constriction, which had gripped William’s heart ever since he walked away from her the previous day, eased. He simply could not force himself to remain angry with her any longer, and in the absence of anger, he had only sorrow and happiness left to him—sorrow at her choice to leave, and happiness that he had the opportunity to meet her and know love.
He had ridden away in the early morning hours with the express intention of spending the next three weeks at his hunting lodge in York, but he got no farther than the first inn along the road before he realized he could not bear to be separated from Mattie.
He had returned posthaste, fearful that she would refuse to speak to him again. But here she was on the staircase before him, lovely in a pale yellow dress with high color in her cheeks. Did she blush to see him?
“William,” she said with a catch in her breath. “You’re back!” She seemed frozen on the staircase; her hand gripped the banister.
William hoped the emotion clearly apparent in her voice was joy to see him.
“Miss Crockwell, I must speak to you in private,” William said urgently. “I hope you can forgive me—”
He swung around at the sound of the front door opening, surprised to see Stephen Carver opening the door unannounced. John jumped forward to close the door behind Stephen, who stopped short at the sight of William. His eyes traveled toward Mattie on the staircase.
“William! You are back!”
Stephen’s words echoed Mattie’s, and William looked between the two, both of whom stared at him. Something about Stephen set his teeth on edge at the moment, but William could not decipher the origin of his distrust. How did Stephen know he had left? He clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes as he addressed Stephen.
“I did not hear your knock, Carver,” William said with frosty politeness.
“I had just stepped out for a breath of fresh air. My aunt is visiting with Mrs. Sinclair and Miss Sinclair.”
William nodded. “I see,” he said, though he did not. He had thought Stephen enamored of Louisa, but the way Stephen’s eyes strayed toward Mattie at the moment and the look that passed between them gave him concern. William took a deep breath. He had resolved to treasure the time he had left with Mattie, and he was determined to do just that.
“I hope you enjoyed your walk,” William said. “I have just arrived myself and did not realize your aunt was visiting. Shall we join them?” He held his hand out to Mattie, who descended the steps with a look of dread on her face. He smiled at her reassuringly. John opened the drawing room door, and they entered the room.
“William!” Sylvie said with enthusiasm. “You have returned!”
William returned his sister’s kiss, wondering how many more people would echo those words.
“Yes, my business resolved itself,” he murmured inconsequentially. He had left with only a note for his mother stating he was retiring to his hunting lodge for a period, and had made no mention of business, but a pointed look at Sylvie silenced any questions she had.
“Welcome back, William,” his mother said quietly. She eyed Mattie and Stephen and himself with a careful expression. “Miss Crockwell, you look well today. Stephen, I hope you found the gardens to your liking. Will you take tea now?”
William exerted great effort to avoid speculating about Mattie and Stephen as they took tea with Mrs. Brookfield, but throughout the visit, he caught several undecipherable looks pass between them. As soon as Mrs. Brookfield and Stephen had left, he slipped the women’s company and headed to his library with a vague reference to attending to matters of the estate. He was in no mood to discuss his precipitous return with his mother or Sylvie, but could find no excuse to waylay Mattie without drawing undue attention.
He poured himself a drink and perched on the edge of his desk to stare out the windows onto the grounds, mulling over various ways of gaining access to Mattie for private conversation.
He cursed at the knock on his door. Apparently, his excuses had not been enough to dissuade his family from seeking him out.
“Yes,” he said, his voice exasperated. He turned and straightened hastily when Mattie slipped into the room. His first instinct was to stride toward her and take her in his arms, but he fought the urge. Words were the wisest course at the moment, not potentially unwelcome displays of physical affection.
“Miss Crockwell!” He indicated she should take a seat. “May I offer you something to drink?”
Mattie shook her head. She kept her eyes on the general area of his chest, avoiding his eyes, and it pained him. Had he brought her to this? Taken the laughter from her? He sat down across from her.
“I have been thinking of various ways to see you, to talk to you in private, but here you are, having arrived at the most sensible solution.”
“I hate the way we parted,” Mattie said. She raised her eyes to his, and he saw unshed tears.
“As do I,” William said softly. “No more tears, Mattie. I vowed I would not badger you any further in the matter of staying or returning. This is what I wished to convey to you as soon as I arrived but was prevented from doing so by my mother’s guests. I left this house in such misery, selfishly so, knowing full well that you suffered too. And yet I could not rise above my own grief to tend to your discomfort. For that, I most abjectly apologize. Please forgive me, Mattie.” He rushed on lest he forget the most salient point. “I love you and I wish you to remain, but I understand completely if you feel you cannot. Things must have changed very much over the centuries that come between us, and I cannot in all conscience ask you to give up the life you have known, let alone your country, to remain here with me.”
His heart ached to see tears flowing freely down his dear love’s face as she gripped her hands tightly, but she needed to hear the words. He himself would have gladly prostrated himself and wept like a child if he could. He rose, kneeled down before her on one knee and pried one of her cold hands loose to bring it to his lips. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.
“Do not cry, my love. We still have a fortnight and more to enjoy each other.” He held his breath. “If you still feel the same as I do?”
Mattie wiped at her face with his kerchief and nodded. She pushed herself to the edge of her chair and wrapped her arms around William’s neck.
“I do!
I do! I love you, William, and I don’t want to leave you, but—”
William lifted his head and covered her mouth with his own before whispering against her lips.
“You need explain no further, my love. I understand. Let us enjoy the time that remains.”
****
Over the next few weeks, they did exactly that. William remained at Mattie’s side throughout the numerous dances and balls the family was required to attend, giving rise to comment and speculations regarding his intentions. His mother remonstrated with him on a continuing basis, but he advised her that he cared not a whit for the opinions of others, and that he would not deny himself the pleasure of Miss Crockwell’s company while she remained in their time.
He was not always able to seat himself next to her at the various dinners they attended, however, and it was at one of these that he gritted his teeth when she was seated next to Stephen Carver at a dinner given by Mrs. Covington. Stephen and Mattie greeted each other as old friends, and he wondered how their friendship had come to pass. It seemed to be more than just fellow compatriots sharing a few stories. Mattie had given him no cause for jealousy, and yet he felt jealous nonetheless. He watched Louisa across the table from Stephen, eyeing them with an expression of sadness, and he resolved to speak to Mattie as soon as possible. That opportunity presented itself shortly after the men joined the women for an evening of cards.
William managed to maneuver Mattie away from the general conversation. He wasted few words given that the room was small and their tête-à-tête would soon be interrupted.
“Mattie, I wonder if you are aware of Miss Covington’s regard for Mr. Carver.”
Mattie turned surprised eyes on him. “I had noticed, William. I didn’t know you had.”
“I have known Louisa all my life, and she is not able to hide much from me. However, the expression of unhappiness on her face at dinner is not one I wish to see again. You and Stephen seemed very cozy, and I imagine she thinks you have a fondness for one another.” He swallowed hard on the words.
“Well, good!” Mattie surprised him by saying. “Maybe she’ll get off her duff and pay attention to him. At least, that was my plan. I offered to talk to her and ask her how she felt about him, but I haven’t seen much of her.” Mattie looked in Louisa’s direction. “Maybe I’ll go ask her now.”
“Your plan? I am not certain what ‘get off her duff’ means, but I can infer, my dear. What do you mean ‘your plan’?”
“I talked to Stephen several weeks ago, the day you came back as a matter of fact, and I volunteered to talk to Louisa. He’s in love with her, and he wants her to go back to America with him, but he doesn’t think she will.”
“So, you have become a matchmaker?”
Mattie grinned, something she had been doing often of late. Like him, she seemed to have put away her grief for the moment. His heart thrilled to the brightness of her smile.
“I thought I might. I’m going to tackle this thing between Sylvie and Thomas too.”
“Oh, my dear. I wish you well with that. So, you and Stephen are not…” William struggled for words.
“In love?” Mattie offered. “No, I’m in love with you.”
William’s face heated, and he coughed behind his hand. “Miss Crockwell, how brazen of you!” He returned her smile with one of affection. “Do not ever change.”
“You say the nicest things, William,” Mattie said softly. She looked over her shoulder to where Louisa sat on the sofa and drank tea while others played cards.
“I’m going in,” she said as she sailed off.
Chapter Fifteen
“Louisa, I wondered if I might talk to you,” Mattie said as she slipped onto the sofa next to Louisa. Mattie noted that Stephen, playing cards, watched her with an alarmed expression. She wasn’t sure if he really wanted her to talk to Louisa or not, but folks in the Georgian era rarely seemed to say what they truly meant, so she decided to move things along.
“Certainly, Miss Crockwell. I hope you are enjoying your stay?” Louisa’s smile was not as wide as Mattie had seen it, and Mattie knew she needed to clear the air as soon as possible.
“It’s wonderful. I’ll be going home to America soon.” Mattie hated to say the words, but they seemed like a good opening for a difficult conversation. “What do you think of America? Have you ever been there?”
Louisa looked taken aback for a moment, but she quickly schooled her face into an expression of polite interest.
“No, I have not. Mr. Carver returns soon as well, I think.”
“Does he? I didn’t know that. Have you ever thought about visiting America?”
Louisa shook her head. “No, not in reality.” Louisa’s gaze traveled to Stephen, but she quickly looked away when she saw Stephen watching them. Mattie watched the exchange with a sigh.
“What if…” This wasn’t as easy as she’d thought.
“Yes, Miss Crockwell?”
Mattie forged on. “What if you fell in love with someone who lived in America? Would you consider moving there?”
Louisa’s eyes rounded. She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. She took a hearty sip of tea. Mattie looked over her shoulder toward William with a pained expression.
“No, I have not contemplated such a thing, Miss Crockwell. No more than I have contemplated marrying a Frenchman or an Italian.” Louisa’s pink cheeks were indecipherable. Was she mad? Embarrassed? Mattie hoped she wasn’t blowing it, for Stephen’s sake.
“It’s a beautiful country, Louisa. Stunning.” Mattie stalled as she pondered other tactics.
“Yes, I am sure it is. I have heard Mr. Carver speak of it.”
A full-frontal assault was required. Mattie threw one more look over her shoulder toward William who watched with a small smile of support.
“Ah, yes! Mr. Carver,” Mattie said. “Yes. Well, that’s what I really wanted to talk to you about.”
“I did not realize you and Mr. Carver were so…well acquainted, Miss Crockwell, but it would appear that you are.”
“We’re not,” Mattie said with a tilt of her head. “We’re just fellow Americans.”
“Yes, of course,” Louisa said with a look that suggested she thought otherwise.
Mattie took a deep breath. Here goes!
“Look, Louisa, the thing is…Stephen is in love with you.” Mattie let it go and waited for the reaction.
Louisa gasped, and her eyes flew to Stephen, whose attention had been captured by the game once again.
“Miss Crockwell! That is a very bold statement. How can you possibly know such a thing?”
“Well, one look at him says it all, but as it happens, he told me so.”
“He told you? I find it odd that he should discuss such a thing with you before addressing himself to me.” Louisa stiffened as if she was affronted. These people and their rules, Mattie thought. Argh!
“Well, I asked him,” she shrugged. “I’ve seen him watching you, and I suspected he was in love with you. So, I asked.”
Louisa looked at Stephen once again, her cheeks rosy. “And he told you he was?”
“Yes. I think though that he hasn’t said anything because he thinks you wouldn’t want to go with him to America.” Mattie felt she had said way too much, but she wasn’t sure that Stephen or Louisa would follow up. It seemed like some of the romances in Jane Austen’s Georgian-era books took forever to develop given the era’s propensity to observe the niceties above all else and to treat strong emotion as a less than desirable trait. But then, Stephen was American. Maybe American societal mores were already different in this era.
Louisa turned back to Mattie and pressed her lips together. Mattie winced. She had said too much! Drat!
“If I were in love with my husband, I would follow him to his home. That is our custom,” Louisa said serenely, as if she spoke of an abstract future subject. Mattie stared at her.
“Really?” Mattie breathed.
Louisa cleared her throat and took anot
her sip of her tea. Her eyes strayed toward Stephen, still engaged by his partner in conversation. “Yes, of course.”
“So, are you saying you feel the same way about Stephen?”
Mattie saw Louisa swallow hard, and her chest heaved as she took in a deep breath. She looked at Mattie and blinked.
“Yes, Miss Crockwell. I surprise myself by disclosing to you that I do, in fact, feel the same.” Her lips curved softly.
Mattie glanced over her shoulder toward William, resisting an urge to throw him a thumbs-up signal. He must have seen something in her face because he smiled broadly. She grinned back and returned her attention to Louisa.
“Will you tell him?” Mattie nodded toward Stephen.
“I am afraid I cannot. Mr. Carver must initiate such a discussion.”
“I’ll tell him if you want,” Mattie offered. Otherwise, it wasn’t going to get done, was it?
Louisa chuckled. “You cannot simply walk up to Mr. Carver and declare my undying love for him, Miss Crockwell. We are not so hasty in these matters.”
“No, no, of course not. I won’t,” Mattie promised. Well, of course she was going to.
Louisa nodded and lowered her eyes to her tea.
Mattie spun her head toward Stephen, willing him to look up so she could communicate nonverbally. Luckily, he did look up at that moment. His eyes traveled to Louisa first, and Mattie almost jumped up and waved to get his attention. She did raise an abrupt hand to her hair, startling Louisa. Stephen met her eyes, and she gave him a slight, almost imperceptible nod. His face broke out into a bright smile, and he looked away to speak to his partner.
“Miss Crockwell, did you just signal Mr. Carver?” Louisa said in a strident hiss.
“Well, yes, I think I did,” Mattie said with a beaming smile. Stephen rose from the table. “I think I’ll just go talk to William over there.”
“Miss Crockwell, you must stay!” Louisa whispered, her eyes flying toward Stephen, who approached.
